


Full Circle

by DreamingAngelWolf



Category: Inception (2010), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dream Sharing, Dreams, Established Relationship, M/M, No film knowledge neccessary, Slight Mental Health Issues, Sort-of character death, WinterHawk Big Bang, a car chase, an elevator fight, lots of pointless easter eggs, minor mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7955206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes are two of the best there are at extraction: stealing valuable secrets inside the subconscious during the mind's vulnerable dream state. Their skill and the success of their team has made them coveted assets in the word of espionage, but has also cost them dearly. Now they've bee reunited with their team and tasked to do the impossible - stealing information from the Secretary of State himself. If they succeed, the team could save the nation. But no planning or expertise can change what happened in the past, the effects of which still haunt Bucky, and as he walks a knife's edge it's down to Clint to keep him from falling and jeopardising everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this has been something of a nightmare! I won't go into why, but I've never stressed so much about a fic before. To give you an idea: seven hours ago I still had the whole ending to write, and came down with a heinous cold to boot, so I've been struggling to finish it all day - BUT I HAVE! And, not gonna lie, given how unhappy I was with my last fic, this one is ten times better. Now, a few things: 
> 
> 1\. Don't be put off by the fact that it's a movie AU! Everything about the world is explained (as best I can), so it doesn't matter if you haven't seen the movie - it should all still make sense... I hope. And for those of you who have seen it, there may be an easter egg or two to look out for ;-)  
> 2\. There is an absolutely wonderful piece of art accompanying this fic, made by the super-talented [sleepwalkerindreamersclothing](http://sleepwalkerindreamersclothing.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr. It's included in the story, but you should all go check out her blog, 'cause it's bangin ;D  
> 3\. Also big shout-out to [Molly](http://mollynoble.tumblr.com/) for organising the whole Bang! I think it's been a great success from what I've seen, and despite the stress, I've really enjoyed doing it ^_^
> 
> Right, that's my rambling over. Anything you wanna ask me about, you can ask me here or on [Tumblr](http://dreamingangelwolf.tumblr.com/ask) :-) Really hope you enjoy this guys!

_At first a sharp-ish pain_  
_That returns as a thought_  
_That the needle in your skin_  
_Will bring you closer to God_

_\- 'Full Circle', Half Moon Run_

 

***

 

Sharon looked both ways down the empty corridor, raising her eyebrow. “He really bought out this whole floor?”

“It’s part of the hotel’s VIP service,” Fury said, stepping out of the elevator behind her. “Not that he couldn’t have bought it if he wanted to –”

“But why waste the money on something that’s already provided?”

“More out of respect for the hospitality.” He turned left, Sharon following behind his right shoulder. “Can I rely on you to respect his?”

“Of course,” she assured him. “Only an idiot would blow this meeting over a lack of respect.”

Fury snorted. “You’d be surprised.”

They rounded the corner together, and Sharon spotted the elaborate, double doors to the VIP suite not far ahead of them, guarded by two women who watched their approach. Smartly dressed, they carried themselves in an almost regal manner, their gazes sharp and measuring, and there was no doubt of their strength. Sharon had the distinct impression that she wouldn’t last thirty seconds against just one of them. She stopped beside Fury in front of them, squaring her shoulders a little and trying to look as fierce as they did.

“Nicholas J. Fury,” Fury said. “I’m expected.”

The guards shared a wordless look, and one of them disappeared inside the suite. The remaining one looked Sharon up and down, making her bristle. “Sharon Carter,” she said, and pointed her thumb at Fury. “I’m with him.” The guard pursed her lips slightly, but any response she might have made never came – the suite doors opened, revealing a man in expensively simple but comfortable clothing.

“Your Highness,” Fury said, bowing his head.

“Director Fury,” King T’Challa greeted in return, and the two men shook hands. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He spread an arm towards Sharon. “May I introduce Miss Sharon Carter, my personal detail.”

Inclining her head as Fury had done, Sharon accepted the king’s hand. “It’s an honour, Your Highness.”

“Likewise, Miss Carter,” T’Challa said with a warm smile. To both of them, he said, “Please, come in, and make yourselves at home.”

Inside, the suite was lavish without being outlandish. The décor was sparse but tasteful, the wall and carpet colours gentle, and the bar and television were a considerable upgrade from regular hotel provisions. Sharon especially appreciated the comfortable furniture, sinking a little deeper into the sofa than Fury as he and T’Challa got straight down to business.

“It is our understanding,” Fury began, “that you intend to meet with Secretary of State Alexander Pierce sometime soon to discuss a deal regarding Wakandan vibranium?”

T’Challa narrowed his eyes. “‘Our understanding’?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s,” Sharon said.

“We represent the Sub-”

A smile touched T’Challa’s lips. “I am aware of S.H.I.E.L.D., Director. Your organisation answers to Secretary Pierce himself, does it not?”

“It does.”

“Yet you have not claimed to be here on behalf of the Secretary?”

“We don’t.”

“Then what brings you here, if not to further convince me that I am making the right choice?”

“Because with respect, Your Highness, we don’t think you are,” Fury said. T’Challa raised an eyebrow, leaning forward and gesturing for him to continue. “Like the CIA and the FBI, we deal in espionage, as you know. Only, our methods are not quite as orthodox, and for that reason, our work is kept on a need-to-know basis. This allows us a great deal of freedom in both external and internal affairs.”

Understanding crept over the king’s face. “Pierce does not know you are here.”

“And we want it to stay that way,” Sharon said.

Looking thoughtful, T’Challa stroked his chin. “Very well,” he said. “Why would it be wrong to sell vibranium to this man?”

Fury slipped a tablet out from inside his coat, opening up a document containing their collected evidence so far. “I have personally known Alexander Pierce for a long time,” he said, “but lately, the direction he wants to take S.H.I.E.L.D. in concerns me.” He continued as T’Challa examined the tablet; “We rarely expand beyond our current field of operation, yet Pierce has repeatedly talked about militarising the organisation. He mentioned vibranium as a way of making that possible. Normally, this on its own wouldn’t be much cause for concern – what made it so is the people he’s been in touch with over the matter.”

“One of the greatest threats to society as we know it is a covert organisation known as Hydra,” Sharon explained. “They’ve been around since the Second World War, but they’ve never had enough of a presence to be considered a real threat until the turn of the century.”

“In the last decade, the CIA and S.H.I.E.L.D. have identified a number of potential Hydra members within the highest levels of our political infrastructure: business corporation owners, leading military officials, Republicans, Democrats – and these are the people Pierce has been in close contact with. All the signs seem to suggest that he could be Hydra.”

“Are you telling me, Director,” T’Challa said, “that you want me to renege on these negotiations on your suspicions that my buyer might be a terrorist?”

“Well-founded suspicions,” Sharon insisted. “It makes no sense for S.H.I.E.L.D. to become militarised –”

“Your suspicions may be well founded Miss Carter, but they are still suspicions.” T’Challa gestured with the tablet. “This ‘evidence’ is far from infallible.”

“The quality of our evidence isn’t what matters here; the fact that we are raising such a serious concern –”

“And if your suspicions are false? How does that reflect upon me?”

“It won’t –”

“We can get you proof,” Fury said, and T’Challa asked him how. “By doing what we do best: extraction.”

The king sat back in his seat. “You want to steal the Secretary of State’s secrets?”

“I prefer the term ‘investigate’.”

He chuckled. “Very well, then. How would this prove to me that Alexander Pierce is not to be trusted?”

Fury pointed to the tablet, saying, “You’ve seen how hard it is to get solid evidence on these people. They can cover their tracks better than most, and they’re extremely careful about doing so. But subconscious thoughts? Something like that can’t be faked.”

T’Challa nodded slowly. Sharon was confident they were starting to win him over. “I assume you have someone capable of performing such a feat?” he asked.

“I do,” Fury said. “The team I have in mind were the ones responsible for the arrest of Helmut Zemo last year.”

When he paused, T’Challa said, “I sense there are some complications?”

“Just a couple of small ones,” Fury said. “One is that we need your help getting Pierce alone.”

“That can easily be arranged. And the other issue?”

Fury shared a glance with Sharon. “The second problem,” he said, “is that the team is… no longer active within our organisation. We’re confident, however, that we can convince them to assemble once more.”

***

The ceiling was littered with signed playing cards, and the first one Clint saw when he opened his eyes was the Queen of Spades. Screwing his eyes shut again he stretched out his shoulders, grimacing at how uncomfortable the old, poorly-stuffed sofa had left him, the tug of the IV line at his wrist adding to his displeasure.

“Well?”

He sighed, freeing himself from the PASIV. “Good news: he isn’t sleeping with Belladonna.”

“Oh, thank God,” the woman beside him said, sinking back into the poorly-made sofa with relief. Looking over at the sleeping man on the (equally awful-looking) armchair, she smiled softly, murmuring, “I should’ve trusted him.”

“Yeah, well,” Clint muttered, standing up, “you did say he was a thief.”

“Remy ain’t that kinda thief,” she said, watching him pack up the PASIV over her shoulder. “Do you still trust people, doing what you do?”

He thought about it for a second. “I trust who I know I can trust,” he told her, “and that’s currently a very small number of people.”

She looked sympathetic. “Sounds rough.”

“Nah,” he said, shrugging one stiff shoulder. “I prefer it that way. So, uh… payment?”

It felt mean, asking for money when the young couple were clearly no better off than he was, and when it was clear she was struggling to find the correct amount Clint told her to forget about it. All his other clients had paid that day, so he assured her it was no great loss on his part.

“Oh, I have one more question,” he said as he was leaving.

The girl nodded. “Shoot.”

“Your name’s not really Rogue, is it?”

Rogue smiled. “Only the people I trust know that.” Clint groaned, thinking she sounded like a friend of his. Funnily enough, so did one of his voicemail messages.

_“Your dog officially has better career prospects than you do. On our walk today he found a drug kitchen – a literal drug dealer’s literal cooking pot – and is now the darling of the NYPD. They were so impressed they actually asked if I’d be willing to let them train him as a sniffer dog. I said I’d think about it. If you don’t believe me, ask America, she witnessed the whole thing. Anyway. He’s cool to stay with me until you can come and take him back, though you should really stop giving him pizza, Clint. A treat for humans is not necessarily a treat for dogs. Remember that. Laters.”_

_“Hey chickenshit, it’s been too damn long since your last call. You’re the one who wanted to do the whole ‘checking in’ thing, so… do it, yeah? Not gonna get on your hide about it, but if you’re serious about being better brothers – shit, I dunno, just call, dumbass. And you’d best not still be doing that dreaming crap.”_

_“Barton, it’s Fury. Return the damn call.”_

_“Hey, it’s me. The spring rolls had just sold out and it’s going to be a while until the next batch, so it looks like I’ll be getting home after you. Also, Kate and America said something about Lucky and a drug den when they rang earlier? Don’t know if you know about that. Oh, and I got us some more milk – turns out the last bottle was older than we thought. Hope the jobs went well. See you soon.”_

“Aw, milk,” Clint mumbled at his phone, deleting three of the voicemails and frowning at the four missed calls from Fury. It had been a year since they’d last seen each other, and they hadn’t exactly parted on friendly terms – in fact, Clint had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with Fury again. Hell, he’d rather admit to Barney that he was still extracting than see what Nick Fury wanted. “That’s going to be fun,” he groaned, and decided to ignore everyone altogether.

He spent the rest of the walk home thinking about possible movies he and Bucky could watch that evening, conveniently forgetting that Fury had even called until he saw the man apparently waiting for him in the middle of his and Bucky’s apartment. Fury stood up, greeting him with a polite “Barton”, and Clint spotted Sharon coming out of the bathroom.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

“You have to ask?” Sharon said, winking at him.

He stared at them both. “No.”

Fury raised a hand. “Just hear –”

“No! I’m not interested –”

“There’s good money in it.”

“I don’t care.”

“You could potentially save a lot of lives in the future.”

He paused, glancing between them both with suspicion. “Extraction?”

“Yes.”

“… Is it dangerous?”

“It could be.”

“But no more dangerous than you’ve already experienced,” Sharon added, and Clint rounded on her sharply.

“I’ve seen the danger, and I’ve seen the consequences.”

“Which is why you’ll be able to avoid them,” Fury said, and gestured to the dining table, eyebrows raised. “Hear us out, then we’ll leave.”

It was hard to know whether he was being sincere with the eyepatch on, but Clint caved, and all three of them sat down. He made sure he was the first one to speak; “If you’re trying to get us to re-join the company, you can stop right now. That’s never going to happen.”

Fury and Sharon shared a glance. “Technically,” Fury said, “the company no longer officially exists, though Sharon and I continue to operate under the S.H.I.E.L.D. moniker.”

“And we’re not here for Bucky,” Sharon said. “Only you.”

Relieved as he was to hear that, Clint sighed, slumping down in his chair. “He’s not gonna be happy about this.”

“I thought you were adamant about not taking us up on our offer?”

He glared at Fury. “You want me to hear you out or not?”

Bristling slightly, Fury pulled out a smartphone and slid it over to Clint. “How much do you know about Alexander Pierce?”

“The Secretary of State? About as much as the rest of the general public.” The man in question appeared on the phone screen, laughing in front of a podium.

“He’s currently one of the wealthiest members of our government, and has a lot of influence over the President. As such, he’s recently been tasked with overseeing the negotiations for a new resource import deal: vibranium.”

“Vibranium?”

“It’s an exceptionally rare metal, found only in one region of Africa.”

“Wakanda,” Clint said, reading from the phone. “So the President wants this rare metal –”

“No.”

“No?”

Sharon explained, “From the reports we’ve found on the matter, the idea to angle for a trade deal with Wakanda was Pierce’s, not the President’s. It’s supposedly going to be used for a new defence project, one that was rushed into being approved and had Pierce’s name attached to it quite explicitly – and that’s what got our attention.”

“His name or the project?” Clint asked, scanning the specs of vibranium.

“All of it,” Fury said. “Vibranium hasn’t been used by a non-Wakandan since World War II, and Pierce wants to immediately implement it in an advanced military design without studying it beforehand. Why?”

Looking up from the phone, Clint blinked at him. “I’m not expected to answer that, am I?”

Fury rolled his eye.

“We’re concerned about how quickly and quietly this is happening,” Sharon said. “Plans like these usually go through extremely thorough review before being taken to the President, but this one has only been in circulation for about a month. The King of Wakanda has even agreed to these negotiations and is here in the country –”

“So it’s a little fishy,” Clint said. “What does that have to do with us?”

Fury waved at the phone, and Clint scrolled down the document. “It’s not unfeasible to suspect that Pierce works for Hydra.”

The red and black octopus was the thing of Clint’s nightmares, and it sneered up at him from the screen. Memories flickered in his mind’s eye and he swallowed hard on a dry mouth. “Hydra.”

Nodding, Fury said, “You see our concern.”

Sighing through his nose, Clint tried to rub the images out of his eyes. “So you want me to expose him.”

“Not quite – we just want to know if our suspicions are correct.”

“So you can then expose him?”

“So we can intervene before the deal goes ahead.”

“And then expose him.”

“Potentially.”

“Potentially?” Clint said, incredulous.

“Clint,” Sharon said, “if it’s true, and Pierce is Hydra, then we have the chance to nip his plans in the bud before they can come into fruition. Once we’ve done that, then we have a clear shot at exposing him.”

“If he’s Hydra,” Fury reiterated. “If not, we step back and let the deal go through.”

Scowling at both of them, Clint tapped the phone screen, which now showed an image of the Wakandan King. “Does this King T’Challa know?”

“He does. In fact, he is very eager for us to find out the true nature of his potential buyer.”

“You mean he hired you.”

Fury shrugged. “We might have persuaded him to.”

“Great,” Clint muttered. “What’s his price?”

“He’s offering a million dollars to each person who helps find out the truth.”

For a few seconds, Clint gawped. “Sorry, I think my hearing aids fritzed – a million dollars?”

“A million dollars.”

The selfish part of Clint wailed at the sound of such words. He and Bucky were barely making enough to get by these days; what they could do with a million dollars was something he didn’t let himself think about, but now that it sounded attainable… Groaning inwardly, though, he shook his head. “You know you’re going to have to give me something better than that, Nick.” Selfish he was not.

“Alright.” Reaching over, Fury swiped the phone screen. “These are the documents pertaining to the development and future implementation of Project Pegasus. Long story short, this ‘defence scheme’ is as much of a threat to civilians as it is to –”

Clint’s heart jumped as the key sounded in the apartment door. “Hey,” Bucky’s voice called.

“Hey,” he called back.

“Sorry I’m late. Bumped into Simone and the kids at the park…” Stepping into view of the dining table, Bucky stopped, a frown forming on his brow. His eyes darted between Clint and their ‘guests’ as Fury and Sharon stood up.

“Barnes.”

“Nick,” Bucky said quietly, nodding at him. “Sharon.”

“Hi Bucky.”

“We’ll get out of your hair,” Fury said, and he and Sharon moved to go. To Clint, he said, “We came to you first, but we’ll be contacting the rest of the team, too. Let us know what you decide,” and with a final nod to both of them, he was gone.

Placing the takeout bags on the kitchen counter, Bucky slowly asked, “What were they doing here?”

Clint pushed himself up from the table. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Nick Fury and Sharon Carter were talking to you about something in our apartment and you expect me not to worry?”

He sighed, leaning against the counter. “No.”

Bucky put his hands on his hips. “So? What did they want?”

Begging food first, Clint waited until they were both starting on their Chinese dinner before relaying to Bucky what Fury and Sharon had told him. As he expected, Bucky remained silent and blank-faced throughout, only nodding occasionally to show he was keeping up with the details. At the end, when Clint admitted he wasn’t completely sure about the job, Bucky simply said, “You should think about it.”

Clint stared at him. He’d seen the same flash of temptation in Bucky’s eyes when he’d mentioned the King’s million dollar offering, and the longing to help save lives. Taking the job and leaving Bucky here felt as selfish as doing it solely for the money. When he’d expressed doubt about saying yes, he’d meant it; they’d both left the profession behind a year ago, and for good reasons.

“You should think about it” seemed to be the end of the conversation – and of any further conversation. With Lucky staying at Kate’s, they had little to do for the remainder of the evening, so they found a movie to watch and did so in uncomfortable silence. Clint barely even knew what was happening, he was so wrapped up in his thoughts, going over the pros and cons, reasons why he should and why he shouldn’t take the job Fury had offered him. Mostly, though, he remembered.

***

_Clint woke up with a full-body jerk, and dropped his head back against his seat, breathing deeply. “I hate layered kicks,” he said to no-one in particular._

_“You didn’t have to go so deep,” Wanda said on his left, unstrapping herself from the PASIV._

_Opposite them, Helmut Zemo chuckled, flexing his wrists within the handcuffs. “I think all your efforts were wasted, no?” he said._

_“This was just one option,” Natasha said, giving him a look that would have most men giving her a lifetime’s worth of secrets._

_“Uh, guys?” Bruce said. “Did Steve and Bucky make the kick?”_

_No sooner had he spoken than Steve woke up with a loud gasp, blinking and breathing rapidly. “Bucky,” he said, wiping at his face._

_Clint frowned. “What about him?”_

_His friend struggled with the tape around his wrist. “The plane exploded,” was all he said before he got up and shook the still-sleeping Bucky by the shoulders. “Bucky? Bucky!”_

_“Steve,” Natasha said, “what happened?”_

_“You failed,” Zemo crooned, and Natasha called for prison security._

_“I thought I could get it,” Steve mumbled, “but it was still rigged, so I told him to let go, but he – he got stuck… Bucky! Come on, man, wake up!”_

_“Wait, what do you mean, ‘he got stuck’?” Clint asked._

_Steve’s face was torn with guilt. “He let go, but he stayed on the plane… The bomb went off, and I don’t… I don’t know that he…”_

_“If he died in the third level,” Wanda said slowly, unable to finish the thought._

_“Limbo.” Bruce looked as distressed as Steve, who was still trying to rouse Bucky from his sleep. Natasha frowned, dropping her gaze. Clint felt numb._

_“Maybe he’ll wake when the timer runs out,” Steve said dully, when his efforts proved futile. “How long did we have left?”_

_“Nineteen minutes and forty-five seconds,” Bruce said. He didn’t bother saying it was pointless to wait._

_Steve let out a harsh breath, sitting back on his haunches. “We’ll wait,” he said. “We’ll wait.”_

***

Eventually, Clint came to a decision. He wanted to be part of something that could save the nation, and as Fury had emphasised, the job may not even come to that. Either way, he would be paid handsomely, and there was so much he and Bucky could do with a sum like that – it didn’t necessarily have to be just for them, although it would be good to get out of their just-below-average apartment into something nicer. Hell, he knew it would do Bucky a world of good, to feel like they could make a new start without worrying that they needed to sacrifice something.

Things were still quiet between them as they prepared for bed. Already under the covers, decision made, Clint watched Bucky finish up in the bathroom and shuffle over the bed, setting an empty glass on the bedside table before turning out the light and getting under the blanket. With his heart thumping loud enough that even he could hear it, Clint debated with himself whether he should tell Bucky now or in the morning what he’d decided, but after a few minutes he propped himself on one elbow and leant over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I gave it some thought. A lot of thought, actually.” He took a steadying breath. “I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna take the job.”

When he didn’t receive a reply, he lay back down, and tried to sleep.

***

In the morning, Clint found himself wondering if he shouldn’t have said anything.

Stood by the bedroom window, Bucky peered out of the curtains at, a look on his face that Clint had seen too many times for comfort. Seeing Clint was awake, he waited until he could hear before asking, “What level is this?”

“Topside.” Clint dug his fingers into his eyes. “Why? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, still looking confused. “Doesn’t feel like it…”

“We’re not dreaming, Bucky. Your totem’s in the draw if you need it.”

Immediately, he went to his bedside table. Clint yawned hard as Bucky dug out an old Russian rouble, visibly relaxing as he ran a thumb over the dull, pattern-less side. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

Clint smiled, stretching himself across the mattress to kiss Bucky’s shoulder, thankful that it had been one of his more minor slip-ups. “Anytime. Pancakes?”

Bucky relaxed more as they cooked, and his ‘incident’ was forgotten by the time they sat down to eat. They’d always done this when he had some of his worse moments, the normality of it all helping to reinforce the idea that this was reality, this was what they had. With a full mug of dark, dark coffee helping to brighten his mood, Clint was glad that things were back to normal between them after yesterday’s bombshell, and even ventured to ask for Bucky’s help getting hold of the rest of the team.

“Why not just call them?”

“I figured I’d pull a Fury and ask them about it face to face.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Steve works at NYU. He’s a TA in their art department.”

“NYU, got it. Nat was in Hell’s Kitchen last time we spoke; might find her tormenting some comrades at a poker game. I know Wanda’s living with her brother, but I don’t have his address.”

“Bruce is a doctor somewhere, right?”

Scoffing slightly, Clint muttered, “Finding Bruce is going to be a team effort.” He put down his pen and tapped the list he’d made. “Okay, so we’ve got a point, an architect, a forger, potentially a chemist, and I can work as a thief. Nat might be able to double up as our extractor, so…”

“What’ll you do if she doesn’t want to?” Bucky asked, a bit too casually.

“Well,” Clint said with a shrug, “guess we’ll have to look for another one.” He caught sight of Bucky’s falling expression. “Bucky, you haven’t dreamshared in over a year,” he said gently. “Not even Fury was expecting you to get back into it.”

“I know.”

“Do you…” He shifted in his chair. “Are you sure you’re okay with me doing this?”

“I’m sure.”

“Because if you aren’t –”

“I am, Clint,” Bucky said firmly. “I mean, I might worry a bit, but I’m not going to ask you not to do it. Just… Don’t cut me off from it completely?”

“Alright,” Clint agreed. “You’re not working this weekend, are you?”

“Bowling alley’s closed, so no.”

“You wouldn’t mind if everyone met up here then?”

His eyes lit up faintly. “That’s fine by me.”

“Great. I’ll go and invite people once I’ve wrapped up today’s jobs.”

***

Reassembling the team was easier than he’d anticipated. Like Bucky said, Steve was in NYU’s arts department, about to leave for the day when Clint caught up to him. He wasn’t thrilled about being pulled back into dream-sharing, but – as it had with Clint – the opportunity to prevent innocents from being hurt swayed him. When Clint mentioned he wasn’t sure where Wanda was staying, Steve helpfully pointed him in the right direction, saying Pietro’s flat was in Brooklyn.

Pietro had never been into dream-sharing, but he’d gotten to know the team through Wanda, and was instantly the pain-in-the-ass Clint remembered, interrupting his and Wanda’s conversation with silly quips about Freud and metaphors. Wanda was much more receptive to the pitch than Steve had been, eager to face an architectural challenge outside of her academic studies (which, she claimed, were child’s play). She didn’t know where to find Natasha or Bruce, but promised to let him know if she caught sight of them.

It was by happy accident that he found Bruce, bumping into him as he passed a pharmacy. Bruce sheepishly revealed that he and “an old friend” had started a free mobile clinic, travelling round some of the poorer parts of the city to lend basic medical aid where needed. Clint almost refrained from telling him about the job, relenting when Bruce – who was far more perceptive than most gave him credit for – asked him if he’d heard from Fury lately. As it was, once the pitch was over, Bruce politely declined, offering to give Clint a list of proficient chemists in his stead.

Having a good idea about where to find Natasha, Clint waited until the sun set to go looking for her in the basements of Hell’s Kitchen. Following old threads and dipping into some rusty Russian helped him track her down to a taxi garage, where he was amused to see her in sound control of a game of Texas Hold ‘Em. Waiting until she’d claimed her winnings (over the sound of some inventive Russian cussing), Clint followed her back to her place before outlining Fury’s job. He was hardly surprised when she agreed almost instantly.

Returning home, Clint yawned deeply the moment he closed his door, shuffling through into the living room. “Hey, Lucky!” he crowed as the one-eyed dog ran up to greet him. “What’re you doing here?”

“Kate dropped him off about an hour ago,” Bucky said from the couch. “Apparently she’s going to the biggest party in the universe, or something.” He was quiet while Clint fussed over Lucky, waiting until he collapsed on the sofa with a groan. “Long day?”

“Yeah,” Clint grunted, moving an arm so Lucky could flop down next to him. “Steve, Wanda, and Nat all said yes though. Couldn’t persuade Bruce. You know he runs a mobile clinic now?”

“No kidding,” Bucky said. “So you’re down a chemist?”

“Yeah, but he’s got a list of replacements for us to check out.”

He nodded. “I’m sure they’ll all be great.” Clint hummed, closing his eyes. “… I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky paused, knotting his fingers together. “I’d like in on the job.”

His eyes opened. “What?”

“I want to be part of the team, Clint.”

Sitting far forward enough to dislodge Lucky, Clint frowned at him. “You’re being serious?”

“Yes.” He held a hand out to stay any protests, saying, “I know it doesn’t seem like the greatest idea, especially after what happened this morning, but compared to other times I’ve lost myself like that, that was nothing – and it’s been months since I had a really serious episode.”

“Exactly,” Clint said, “and I told you then that I didn’t want to go through that ever again.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Bucky continued; “I’m – I’m worried about that too, I’ll admit, but Clint, it’s been a year since I shared a dream. Hell, since I last hooked up to a PASIV, even. I think I’d be okay if I went back into the game surrounded by people who know me and whom I trust.”

“And if you’re not?” Clint shot back. “Bucky, we’re not just talking one level, in and out here. It’s another multi-level job, very probably touching the edge of Limbo –”

“Which is why you can’t afford to put your trust in an extractor you don’t know; someone who may not even leave the information in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands! Look, I’m not asking you to let me go in there by myself and do everything single-handed. Glue to Steve to my side, have Natasha watch me like a hawk, just –” The glint in his eye was so reminiscent of Bucky before his fall that Clint’s breath caught in his throat. “I am the best extractor in the State. You know it, Fury knows it, all the team know it, too. And for a huge job like this, you need the best, Clint, and you need people you can trust. Hold my hand all the way down if you have to, I don’t care – just let me help. Please. Take a leap of faith.”

Feeling the weight of Bucky’s words, Clint let out a steady breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you sure,” he asked, “that you can handle not being in reality? That you’ll be able to recognise the difference? Because you’re right, this is a huge job, and we have to know – for certain – that no-one on the team is going to jeopardise the mission.”

Bucky moved to sit next to him, taking one of Clint’s hands in his. “I am ninety-nine per-cent sure,” he said, “that if you’re there, I’ll be able to handle anything this job throws at us.”

Giving it another moment of deliberation, Clint finally told him, “I’ll discuss it with the team. That’s all I can promise for now.”

Almost grinning, Bucky leaned in and kissed him. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Clint warned, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake.

***

“Okay team. What’s the plan?”

Sat around Clint and Bucky’s dining table, Steve, Natasha and Wanda had come prepared for a hard day’s work of planning. Clint had retrieved this PASIV from it’s hiding place, Bucky was supplying everyone with food and drink, and Lucky was taking full advantage of the increase in humans willing to give him attention. Pushing the dog gently out of the way, Steve opened up his bag and pulled out a laptop, saying, “Obviously, we’ll need to gather as much information on Pierce as possible. If Fury thinks this isn’t going to be a cut-and-run, our way in has to be solid.”

“Look for familial connections,” Natasha said. “Any family still alive and on good terms with him, friends he sees regularly, co-workers who may be Hydra affiliated themselves –”

“You can cross-reference names with the CIA’s watch list,” Bucky suggested, and Natasha started tapping on a tablet.

“I’ve got Fury’s profile on him,” Steve said, looking at Clint, “but a more thorough background check could be useful.” Clint nodded, hitting the Internet on his own laptop. Steve turned to Wanda. “Any generic level ideas?”

“That would depend on our plans,” she said, “but there are some old templates I’m sure I can re-use: cities, hotels, conference buildings; for personal rooms I will need photographs.”

“We’ll see what comes up. Can you make a start on some sketches?”

“Of course.”

“That’s great.” Logging onto his laptop, Steve glanced around the table. “What are we going to do about the chemist situation?”

“Bruce gave me a list,” Clint said, and Bucky handed it to Steve along with a bottle of beer.

“Thanks Buck. Does anyone recognise any of these names?”

“I’ve heard of a few of them,” Natasha said, scanning it quickly. “Fury might be able to provide another ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. hand if necessary.”

Steve hummed in agreement, but set about researching the chemists anyway. They all put their heads down to get on with the work then, and their efforts didn’t prove wasteful – Natasha identified a woman named Ophelia Sarkissian as a potential angle, discovering that she had been in contact with Pierce frequently before her arrest for Hydra affiliation; Clint found out that Pierce enjoyed spending his money on art – paintings and sculptures – as well as bespoke interior design, as well as the fact that he had undergone basic subconscious defence training; Wanda sketched out several possible level templates, including an elaborate hotel, a business plaza, an art gallery, and an underground bank vault; Steve, however, was making little progress with the search for a new chemist, citing their lack of experience with the depth of dreaming they were going for as too big of a risk.

Many beers and one take-out lunch later, a knock at the door stopped everyone in their tracks. Clint frowned as Lucky jumped up, ears forward as he went to investigate. “Kate didn’t call, did she?” he asked Bucky.

“Haven’t heard from her,” he said, already going to answer the door. “Bruce!”

“Hi, Bucky.”

“Thank God,” Natasha muttered as Bruce walked in, an apologetic look on his face.

“Am I too late to the party?”

“Party doesn’t start without you,” Steve said, shaking Bruce’s hand warmly.

“You change your mind?” Clint asked, eyeing up the big bag in his grasp.

Bruce gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Betty made me reconsider,” he said. “I wasn’t too keen on leaving you guys with someone you didn’t know, and she promised she could handle the clinic by herself, so…” He smiled. “What have I missed?”

While Steve caught him up on the bones of their plan, Clint helped Bucky clear up a little in the kitchen. “You know, if Kate hasn’t called, she might not be taking Lucky out today,” he mused.

“I can take him in a bit,” Bucky offered. “Not like you guys really need me here.”

In a low tone, Clint said, “Yeah, but if I’m gonna ask about you being part of this –”

“I’ve already heard most of what you guys are working on,” he pointed out. “If there’s anything else I need to know, just fill me in when necessary. Besides – you’re nearly out of coffee.”

“Aw, what?”

Bucky took Lucky out for a walk just as Bruce was opening up his bag. Inside were a mixture of sleeping draughts and sedatives in various little bottles and jars, some colour-coded in a way that made Clint nervous. Knowing that Bruce was the best chemist around didn’t ease the fact that things could still go horribly wrong even under the most carefully concocted Somnacin.

“If we’re going to be visiting multiple levels,” Bruce said, moving some bottles away from the collection, “then these are our best options. I might be able to get my hands on some standard Somnacin for a base, but that’s not a guarantee.”

“Your mixtures are much better than the standard,” Natasha said, and Bruce chuckled.

“How much time are we talking?” Steve asked, picking one up and inspecting the label.

“With this combination? Well, previous uses have shown that in the first level, a dreamer experiences 10 hours dream-time to 1 hour real-time. A second level would be 100 hours, and a third, 1000 hours.” Clint whistled, and Steve put the bottle back carefully, eyebrows raised. “I can dilute it a little though to give us a tighter frame, or make it more concentrated to give us a broader one,” Bruce continued. “It’ll all depend on how much time we’re given on the night.”

“How strong is the dream fabric?” Wanda asked.

“Very strong,” he assured her. “You’re welcome to try some.”

One by one, they each spent five minutes testing out one level of Bruce’s mixture, and after his time was up, Clint understood fully why one bottle was labelled ‘Lullaby’. Concerned a little by just how vivid his five-minute dream had been, he thought it was an appropriate time to bring up the idea of including Bucky.

“He wants to help us,” he said when they all looked doubtful. “And, yeah, he’s not had a whole lot of recent experience since the Zemo job, but he’s the only extractor we trust, isn’t he? We weren’t keen on the idea of replacing Bruce earlier, so why should bringing in a new extractor be any better?”

“I agree,” Wanda said quietly. “He is already part of our team.”

“We have a responsibility to look out for each other and keep everyone safe,” Natasha said. “If he gets lost in his head and starts affecting the dream –”

“Then we’ll have his back. Won’t we?”

“At what cost, Clint? What if he decides we need waking up before our time?”

“Being woken up is hardly the worst that could happen, Tasha.”

“Actually,” Bruce said, “it could be.” With a quick glance around the table, he gestured to the bottles he planned to use, explaining, “Because of the, uh… the ‘weight’ of this particular mixture – that vividness of the dream, and the strength in each level – getting killed in any level won’t have the same effect that it normally would.”

They all stared at him. “What do you mean?” Steve asked.

Bruce sighed, taking his glasses off. “I mean it’ll be the same situation as the Zemo job,” he said. “Death in the dream results in the mind falling into unconscious space; we would end up in Limbo.”

Clint sat back in his chair, covering his face with his hands as he muttered, “Christ.”

“So that’s a risk we’ll have to bear in mind,” Steve said once the information had sunk in. “Putting that to one side, I don’t see why Bucky shouldn’t be allowed on the job. Clint’s right, Nat,” he said. “Bringing in a new extractor now would be stupid. Bucky’s got the experience.”

“And he has us,” Clint added, gaining hope when Wanda nodded.

“Shall we vote on it?” Steve said. “Mine’s a yes.”

Clint said, “Mine too,” even though it was already a given.

“Wanda?”

She smiled Clint’s way. “Yes.”

“Natasha?”

“Hey, wait, that’s already three yeses!”

“You’re biased, Clint,” Natasha said, continuing: “It’s nothing personal, but I think there are too many risks on top of the ones we’re already taking. It’s a no from me.”

“Alright,” Steve said, and turned to the last person. “Bruce?”

Glancing round at everyone, Bruce drew a hand down his face, breathing out through his nose before saying, “Yes,” quirking an awkward smile at Natasha.

“It’s fine,” she assured him, smirking. “I swapped a dictatorship for democracy a long time ago, I’m not about to complain.”

“Okay,” Steve said, back in team leader mode, “so we’ve got our angles, our chemicals, our level designs, and our team. Let’s tie it all together.”

***

Bucky returned as they were memorising the details. When they told him he would be joining them, he seemed delighted, and swore on his father’s grave that he wouldn’t let anyone down. They told him the plan, emphasising who would be taking on what role in each level, and offering to show him Wanda’s designs, which he declined. “If I think I recognise a place,” he said, “that might end up confusing me more. Better I see it with fresh eyes and know I’m dreaming than spend half the time doubting whether I am.”

As they packed up, Wanda assured everyone she would have more solid layouts to show them later on in the week, and Bruce said he’d work on perfecting the PASIV compound. Natasha implied she was going to break into a CIA holding facility, winking when Bucky offered to help her.

“I’ll let Fury know we’re pretty much good to go,” Steve said as everyone left. “Any extra information we get, we’ll send your way.”

“Alright, but remember: you’re the only one who needs to know how Sharon takes her whiskey.”

Fighting back a smile, Steve shook his head. “Just take care, okay?”

“Sure thing, Cap.” Clint chuckled as Steve flipped him off, then went back in to help Bucky with the clearing up. The moment he stepped back into the living room, however, he knew something had gone missing – all that was on the table were empty glasses, discarded take-out trays, and a few beer bottles. Cursing under his breath, he tried to recall if he’d already put the PASIV away, or if someone else had taken it with them, but in his heart he knew what had really happened, and the soft hiss and click sound emanating from the bedroom confirmed the worst.

“Idiot,” he growled at Bucky, asleep on the bed with a PASIV tube strapped to his wrist. The machine’s timer showed 5:55, which told Clint he hadn’t been under for long, but having experienced the power of Bruce’s compound himself he knew that a couple of minutes for him would be much longer for Bucky, and the longer Bucky was in the dream, the harder Clint would have to fight to bring him out of it. Fuming, he drew out another line and hooked himself up; with any other compound, he would have tipped Bucky off the bed and let the fall act as a kick, but this required an ‘inside job’. It also meant he could yell at Bucky without attracting unwanted attention.

Within the dream, Clint found himself on a seaside promenade. Projections strolled past, their heads and eyes fixed on him, and he joined in with their flow as he searched the area for Bucky, remaining as inconspicuous as possible. He wanted to shout, to call out Bucky’s name and find him sooner, but to draw attention to himself now would be a huge mistake. Eventually, after a bit of wandering, smoke coming from the beach below caught his eye, and he made his way down to the shore.

Against the blues and pale yellows of the beach, the burnt-out plane wreckage was like an immovable stain. The smoke was thick and towered above the scene, making Clint crane his neck back far enough that the sun whited out his vision. Raising a hand shield his eyes, he hurried over to it, heart pounding as he ran through all the things he might find there – so when he rounded the other side to find Bucky sat back against the small plane, elbows balanced on his knees, it was all he could do to not kill them both immediately.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded. “After convincing me that you were going to be sensible about this, you run off for a little nap the second all eyes are off you?”

Bucky hardly seemed to register him. “It’s only a few minutes,” he said dully.

“That’s not my issue here. My issue is that you’re doing this on your own!” Clint folded his arms. “You could have asked, Bucky. At any point tonight, you could have asked to try it out, and I wouldn’t have said no. In fact, I actually advocated for you in front of everyone else, because they were worried that you wouldn’t be able to handle it… Hey. You even listening to me?”

He blinked before answering. “Why is this here?”

Clint frowned. “What?”

“The plane,” Bucky said, gaze distant. “It was part of someone else’s dream, so why is it in mine?” He turned to Clint. “I’ve tried getting rid of it but I, I can’t.”

Looking back at the wreckage, Clint’s stomach dropped as he realised what it was. “I think it’s your subconscious, Bucky,” he said on a sigh. “This is your first time back after the Zemo job. It’s bound to be on your mind.”

Bucky nodded, mumbling “Wasn’t expecting it,” as he absently rubbed his left shoulder. Not long after leaving S.H.I.E.L.D., he’d had a red star tattooed there to help him discern between the memories from Limbo and present-day life. Clint wondered how much good it would do now.

“Well, if you’d –” He ran a hand through his hair. “Next time you want to do something like this, you tell me, okay?”

“I will,” he promised as Clint joined him on the sand. “Sorry.”

“So what were you going to do?” Clint asked after a moment.

Pointing over his shoulder, Bucky said, “There’s skyscrapers back in the main city. Was gonna run some bridges between them.”

“Bridges?”

“Small ones, yeah. You remember that architect we used to work with? Nat’s ex, uh… Matt?”

“Yeah, think I do. Blind, right?”

“That’s him. We used to do this game sometimes: build a city, get to the tops of the tallest buildings, and then free run between them, see who could get the furthest the quickest. We’d make bridges, slides, ski-lifts, anything to give us an edge, you know? Didn’t always get very far before the projections got us, but until they did…” He smiled wistfully. “That was the most fun I ever had outside reality.”

It had been how they learnt, Clint remembered. Matt and Natasha had taught them all they knew a while before Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. entered the picture, and it all seemed so long ago. For a moment, Clint was tempted to throw caution to the wind and suggest they play that exact game, but before he could let the words out, Bucky sighed next to him.

“We should probably go,” he said, rubbing the back of his head.

“Right…” Clint cleared his throat. “Uh, how?”

Bucky produced a handgun. “Quick and easy,” he said, then hesitated. “Could you…”

He nodded, taking one and checking the magazine. Slotting it back in place, he didn’t hesitate to wake them both up.

“You okay?” he asked when they were both sat on the bed, wrists bare. Massaging the exposed skin, Bucky opened his mouth to speak, closing it again a second later. Clint squeezed his shoulder gently. “We can work on it,” he said. “Just you and me. Build your confidence back up. The others don’t need to know.”

Taking his aids out to give his ears a brief rest, Clint almost missed the moment Bucky fished out his totem from the bedside table, closing his eyes in relief after studying both sides.

***

The next day, they received a call from Sharon telling them Fury wanted the team to see the venue they’d be working at, reading off an address and instructions when to be there. A week later, Bucky and Clint found themselves stood outside the entrance to Stark Industries, neither of them able to believe their eyes.

“This definitely isn’t a dream, is it?”

Clint slipped out the arrowhead in his pocket. “No,” he said, stowing it away again. “The writing says not.”

They shared a look. “Are we in over our heads here?” Bucky asked.

He snorted. “I think we were always in over our heads,” he said, and with that, they stepped inside.

Joining the rest of the team in a waiting area by the reception, they waited until Sharon appeared with a red-haired woman, and found themselves being led to a large elevator.

“It might be a bit of a squeeze,” the woman, Pepper, said as they fit themselves in.

“Why is there only one?” Wanda asked. “I thought Stark Industries would be able to afford many.”

“Oh, this is a private one,” Pepper explained. “It’ll take us straight up to the main hall.” The doors closed, and the team shared looks with raised eyebrows.

“It’s a nice idea,” Wanda conceded.

Pepper wasn’t kidding, however – when they opened again, it was all anyone could do to keep their jaws from hitting the floor. The huge room, which easily took up an entire floor of the building, looked like something pulled out of a stately home. The wood was polished and smooth, a grand double staircase gleamed at one end, and expensive chandeliers glistened where they hung from the ceiling. Long, rich drapes in red and gold framed the windows, which Pepper told them were made of one-way glass for full privacy.

“We also have private rooms set up for our guests to utilise at any point in the night,” she said, leading them across the floor to the staircase. “You’ll be situated in one of them, and security will be placed on the door to prevent unwanted access. Whether that security comes from Secretary Pierce, Director Fury, or the Dora Milaje is up for discussion, I believe.”

“Dora who?” Clint asked.

“Dora Milaje,” Sharon said. “Elite guards of Wakanda. They accompany the King wherever he goes.”

“And they are quite impressive,” Pepper added. Up on the mezzanine, she led them away from the hall to a series of wooden doors, knocking briskly on the farthest one before ushering them inside, walking in on a conversation between Nick Fury and a shorter man with a familiar face.

“I’m just saying, it might be a good move. A bit of colour’s always a good thing.”

“You really think I’m going to take fashion advice from you, Stark?”

“I didn’t realise eyepatches had their own fashion line, but, all things considered, I’m not wholly surprised.”

“Director Fury,” Pepper said, catching their attention. “Your extraction team is here.”

“Thank you, Miss Potts.”

“Pepper, tell him he needs a pink eyepatch.”

Giving the man named Stark a pointed look, Pepper said, “I’ll let Rhodey know everyone’s here. Tony, be nice,” and ducked out of the room.

Tony pouted. “I’m always nice.”

“Holy cow,” Bucky said. “You’re Tony Stark.”

“I am,” he said, pointing at Bucky. “And you’re James Barnes. Don’t look so surprised, I researched you all when Nick told me who was coming. Now, who else have we got…” He pointed at each of them in turn; “Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanova, Wanda Maximoff, the legendary Doctor Bruce Banner, and Shannon Carter.”

“Sharon.”

“Or that.”

She scowled. “We met twenty minutes ago.”

“How time flies.”

“Director Fury,” Steve said, “you didn’t tell us we’d be working with Stark Industries on this.”

“Technically you’re not,” Fury said. “The negotiations between the King of Wakanda and the Secretary of State are happening here. Stark Industries is just sponsoring the event.”

“Pepper loves an excuse to throw a party,” Tony said. “Also, my dad was the first non-Wakandan to work with vibranium, so there is that.”

“Why don’t we all take a seat,” Fury suggested.

The room was furnished with a coffee table and four comfortable sofas, and Clint almost fell asleep as soon as he sank into one. Tony offered everyone expensive alcohol from a fully stocked cabinet, and was passing around the glasses when the door opened again and Pepper returned, followed by another group of people.

Fury stood up. “Your Highness,” he said, prompting the rest of them to hastily stand up as well. Suffering a slight head-rush from doing so, Clint felt largely unprepared to meet royalty.

“Director,” the man behind Pepper greeted, stepping forward to shake his hand. Introductions were then made, with Clint learning he was in the presence of King T’Challa himself and, as a result, making a fool of himself.

“Hi your Ness – uh, I mean, Your Royalty – no. Shit.”

Holding back laughter, T’Challa shook his hand with a smile, and stepped back to introduce the two women with him. “Ayo and Aneka are my personal guard, representing the Dora Milaje. More will be joining us tomorrow evening.”

A man in military uniform said to him, “Our own security team will work closely with them when they arrive.” Fury introduced him as Colonel James Rhodes, a friend of Tony’s and head of security for the evening. “Not that we have too much to worry about,” Rhodes assured them. “The event is invite-only, and Miss Potts is scrupulous in her work.”

“Meaning the only bad egg attending is going to be Pierce,” Tony said, and Rhodes gave him a look similar to the one Pepper had earlier.

He then gestured to the remaining people in the room. “These guys are the ones who’ll be making sure you’re not interrupted by any of Pierce’s people,” he said. “I think you know Sam Wilson, so let me introduce Bobbi Morse, Jessica Drew, Thor Odinson, and Daisy Johnson.”

“It’s good to meet you all,” Steve said, exchanging a grin with Sam.

With introductions concluded, everyone seated themselves for the full briefing. “S.H.I.E.L.D. has been working with Stark Industries on dream-sharing technology for a number of years,” Fury began. “With PASIVs being military in origin, it made sense to partner with a company that also specialised in that field. Mr. Stark has been a consultant of ours for a number of years, and has been developing our current model.” He looked pointedly at Tony, who after a couple of seconds sprang up and retrieved a case from under the coffee table.

“The Portable Automated Somnacin IntraVenous Device – wow, that’s a mouthful. Almost as bad as Subconscious Headquarters for Extraction, Inception, and Lawful Dream-sharing. That’s S.H.I.E.L.D., for those of us who didn’t know.” He cleared his throat, and unclipped the case. “Now, the primary function of a PASIV Device is the administration of Somnacin to dreamers in the field, although, it’s not been utilised in a war since we pulled out of Afghanistan. As such, the technology’s become stagnant – it still works, but it could do better. This,” he said, opening the case, “is better. I’m calling it the PASIV 2.0 until I can come up with a better name.”

Clint leaned in along with everyone else to get a better look at the machine. It didn’t appear too dissimilar to a regular PASIV, aside from looking sleeker and less-cluttered, but when Tony launched into a complicated explanation about Somnacin to blood ratios and sensory areas in the brain, he accepted that it was probably better than the one he was comfortable using. He raised his eyebrows when Fury said they would be using the 2.0 on the night in question. “Really? We don’t get to test it first?”

“We’ve tested it,” Bobbi said.

Steve looked at her. “And?”

“It’s pretty damn good.”

“The things it lets the mind do are astounding,” Thor said. “Realism is less of an issue, projections interact with you better –”

“Or worse,” Sam said, “depending on your situation.”

“Sounds good,” Natasha said.

“It’s better than good,” Tony insisted. “And you’ll be the first ones to use it in an actual espionage mission.”

“How’s that going to work, by the way?” Steve asked Fury. “We’ve got our plan for when we’re in the dream, but how do we get Pierce alone and sedated?”

“That’s where we come in,” Rhodes said.

“And me,” Tony chirped, raising a hand. “I can be useful too.”

Rolling his eyes, Rhodes continued: “We know Pierce is going to bring at least two members of his personal protection detail, and that they’ll want to stick close to him. Our job is to distract them and keep them… occupied, for as long as you’re dreaming.”

“Meaning we get to have fun kicking real ass while you guys nap,” Daisy said, grinning.

“Hey,” Clint said, “it’s a very stressful nap.”

“Which you’ll start as soon as I’ve dragged Pierce away from women half his age.”

“Tony,” Rhodes said despairingly.

“Alright then,” Fury said, cutting off whatever Tony was about to respond with. “Everybody know what they’re doing?”

“Actually,” T’Challa said, “I have a request.” Fury gestured for him to continue. “I would like to accompany the extraction team.”

To say Clint hadn’t expected that one was an understatement, and it seemed like he wasn’t the only one – behind T’Challa, Ayo and Aneka exchanged alarmed looks, and Fury’s eyebrows raised. “Your Highness?”

“I wish to accompany the extraction team on their mission,” he said again. “If the Secretary of State is hiding something from me, I wish to see the evidence with my own eyes.”

“You do know how dream-sharing works, right?” Tony asked.

Clint noticed the corner of T’Challa’s twitch. “Why don’t you enlighten me, Mr. Stark?” he said, leaning back into the cushions.

Tony sat forward. “Dream-sharing is a process where two or more people create a world within a dream and explore it together. One person is the dreamer, who controls the dream world, and the other is the subject, who fills it with their subconscious. The subconscious fills the dream in the form of projected people – projections – and their knowledge. If the dreamers are well-trained, they can manipulate certain elements of the dream themselves, such as how they look, or how things in the world behave – physics becomes irrelevant. The only problem with that is that the more the world is manipulated, the more aware the subject’s subconscious becomes that something is wrong, and the projections become nasty. They’ll turn on the dreamer, effectively ‘evicting’ them from the dream. It’s possible to train the subconscious to do that automatically, but that’s another thing entirely. But with everything in the dream feeling as real as it does, that ‘eviction’ is never pleasant. Sadly, death is the only fast exit option before the clock hits zero.”

“Unless multiple dream levels are being utilised, in which case death within the dream is not preferable.”

“Exactly – what?” Tony stared at the king, sitting up straighter. “You knew all that,” he said.

T’Challa chuckled, patting the PASIV 2.0. “Your technology is almost as developed as ours,” he said. “The biggest difference is that we do not call them PASIVs, but something else.”

“Really?” Tony said, seeming to regain his composure. “What’s that, then?”

He smirked. “Something cooler than PASIV 2.0.”

Tony sniffed. “I’m impressed and mildly offended,” he declared.

Turning to Steve, T’Challa said, “I understand implicitly what risks we would all be facing in this undertaking. Limbo is something we have attempted to study in Wakanda before, and I have been made well aware of the dangers. With that in mind, do you have room for one more, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve scratched his head. “I don’t see why you couldn’t join us,” he said, and looked between everyone else. “Any objections?”

“I only brought enough Somnacin for six,” Bruce said, “but if I sat this one out, then I could monitor you all from here.”

“You sure, Bruce?”

“Absolutely.”

“Right,” Steve said, nodding, and T’Challa thanked Bruce.

“We’ll have to change the plan,” Natasha warned, but Steve waved a hand.

“I’ll take Bruce’s level. It won’t make that much of a difference.”

“Then it’s settled,” Fury said. “The ball begins at 1900 hours tomorrow evening. Be here early, and dress appropriately.”

Taking that as a dismissal, T’Challa took his leave, Tony hot on his heels with questions about the Wakandan PASIV equivalent and Rhodes following, Clint presumed for ‘damage control’. Bruce, Natasha and Wanda left with Bobbi, Thor and Daisy, while he, Bucky and Steve stayed to catch up with Sam.

“Hawkeye,” Sam greeted him, and Clint grinned.

“Falcon.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and Steve looked between them, bemused. “You still call each other those names?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Caw, caw, motherfucker.”

“Why?” he asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Bucky muttered.

“What’s wrong, Barnes?” Sam said, smirking. “Still sore about Leipzig?”

“You let a kid give us the run-around for far too long.”

“Hey, I got us out of there in the end.”

“Sure, but you could have done it sooner –”

“My timing was perfect –”

“Your timing was worse than his running commentary.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Sam said, hand out, “that is a low blow, man! Uncalled for.” Bucky snickered, and Sam shook his head in disbelief. “Steve, give me some good news. How’s it going with you and Sharon?”

Steve groaned. “Not you as well.”

“Barton.”

Recognising a summons when he heard it, Clint left his friends with some apprehension. The Director’s one eye remained trained on the group as he approached, but focused on him once he was stood next to Fury.

“Barnes?” he said, one eyebrow arching up.

Clint nodded. “Yeah.”

“Thought you told us not to involve him in this sort of thing again.”

“He wanted to be part of it.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t sound sure.”

Sighing, Clint ran a hand through his hair, looking back over his shoulder at Bucky laughing with Steve and Sam. “I’m worried about him, yeah,” he admitted. “It took so long to get back to normal after the Zemo job – or close to normal, anyway – and I know that if anything happens again, it’ll be like the last year was all for nothing. But I’m not his jailer. He thinks he can handle it, and we all said we’d help him do it. If you’ve got a problem with that, well –” he shrugged – “you’re gonna have to find a new team.”

“You know I could do that, don’t you?” Fury said.

“Sure. But you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re the best, and you need us.”

For a moment, Clint wondered if he’d overstepped the mark, but then Fury nodded, saying, “Just make sure he isn’t going to screw up.”

“He won’t let us down,” he said as Fury passed him. “And I won’t let him down.”

That night, lying in bed with his eyes wide open, he contemplated taking some of Bucky’s sleeping pills. Instead, he pulled out his totem, twirling the arrowhead between his fingers over and over, only stopping once the sun had risen.

***

“We should probably be mingling.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t suppose you know how to do that?”

“Not really, no.”

“Great. So, uh… act casual?”

Never in his life had Clint been in the presence of so many people whose shoes alone screamed ‘wealthy’. His and Bucky’s suits hadn’t cost more than a couple of hundred dollars between them, and as the only two wearing ties he was sure they stood out, even at the edge of the room. “Trust the rich to notice the poor,” he remembered his father once saying. He wondered what Barney would make of him being in such company.

“We are being casual,” Bucky said, picking up two passing champagne flutes. “Here.”

“Have you seen how many Dora Milaje there are here?” Clint said, voice hushed so they didn’t hear him and glare in a way that made his nether-regions shrink a little.

Bucky smirked into his glass. “I’m sure they’re marvelling at your ability to look casual,” he muttered.

“Shit. Casual, yeah. I can do that.” He took a swig of his champagne, trying to keep his expression neutral as he realised he’d taken too big of a gulp. “Think we should try mingle with them?”

“Who?”

“The Dora Milaje.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate that.”

“Oh. Right.”

Giving him a funny look, Bucky asked, “How come you’re so nervous?”

Staring back at him, Clint replied, “How come you’re not?”

“I am.”

He was about to protest the fact until he noticed Bucky’s hand balled tight in his trouser pocket, the fingers of his other hand tapping the stem of his glass, and the tense line of his shoulders. Bumping their elbows together, he asked in quick signing if he was okay.

“All the things that could go wrong are on my mind,” he admitted. “Most of them involve me screwing up somehow – not recognising which level we’re on, not being able to find my totem, giving the game away to Pierce.” He let out a shaky breath, chuckling. “Don’t remember it being this nauseating.”

“You wanna call it quits?” Clint asked. “The others would understand, and we wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“I don’t want that,” he insisted, shaking his head. “It’s been over a year since my last job, Clint, and I’m tired of that one fuck-up stopping me from doing what I love. If I don’t do this now, who knows when I’ll be able to do it next?”

It was a passion that Clint hadn’t seen in a very long time, and it brought forth a smile on his own lips. “I’m proud of you for trying,” he said, squeezing his elbow gently. “Just for the record.”

Bucky smiled tightly back, then looked out across the room and cleared his throat. “Would more champagne be a good idea or a bad one?”

“Sounds like a bad good idea if you ask me,” Clint said. “Think there’s a ‘correct’ way to signal a champagne dude?”

“I doubt it.”

“Alright… No, I don’t trust myself. Maintain optimum casualness, I’ll go and get us some new glasses.” He wasn’t quite sure if the sound he heard as he left was Bucky choking on laughter or champagne.

***

If ever there was cause for celebration, Tony Stark never hesitated to do so. Whether it was for a new invention, a company milestone, or the simple fact that his robots hadn’t set fire to anything for a day – if it could be celebrated, then it would be. The only drawback was that usually, big celebrations meant lots of organising. Luckily, he had a Pepper for that; unluckily, she didn’t always invite the most exciting people. And she always made him mingle.

At least this time he had some fun to look forward to. Pretending to listen to the old man he’d been lumped with, Tony kept his eyes peeled for the Secretary of State, spotting one of his guard dogs chatting with Daisy. She looked distinctly uncomfortable to Tony, and he sympathised momentarily before spotting his prey. He downed the rest of his champagne and waved over another tray.

“… and let me tell you, that was the most potent glass of alcohol I’ve ever tasted in my life. Had me down and out in seconds! I think it must’ve been some sort of Norwegian brew –”

“Stanley, it’s been a pleasure,” Tony said, scooping two glasses up. “Keep doing your thing, sir.”

“That’s not my name –”

“Enjoy the champagne, on the house,” he added, backing away quickly. He took another sip as he approached Alexander Pierce, readying himself for the challenge ahead. “Secretary Pierce!” he called out. “I don’t believe we’ve…” One of Pierce’s guards slid himself between Tony and the politician, glaring down at him unreservedly. Tony swallowed. “… been introduced.” He offered a glass to the scarred man. “Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.” The guard didn’t move.

“It’s alright, Rollins,” Pierce said, moving around the human wall. “It’s about time we spoke, Mr. Stark.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Tony said, and after checking one more time that Rollins really didn’t want the free champagne, he offered it to Pierce. “What do you think about the current state of America’s military defences?”

Pierce laughed. “You want to talk shop?”

“Not really, I just wanted to see what your reaction would be.”

“Oh. Did I pass muster?”

“You avoided the question masterfully. The laugh was a nice touch.”

“Well, you know us politicians,” Pierce said with a smile, and raised his glass.

Tony smiled back. “Too well, sadly.” They chinked glasses, each taking a sip. “What about international relations?”

“Really, Mr. Stark,” Pierce groaned.

“Tony, please.”

“Let’s keep the political talk for when it’s actually needed. Isn’t this a time to relax and have fun with one’s peers?”

“Technically, that’s not what you’re here for,” Tony said, and Pierce sighed.

“Is it really that time already?”

“I can only speak for myself, but I wouldn’t want to be the one who kept the King of Wakanda waiting on a discussion about who gets to play with his shiny toy. Also the Wakandan women keep glaring at me, and I can’t tell if it’s to convey a meaning or because they don’t like me.”

“Yes, they are quite fearsome, aren’t they?” Pierce sighed. “Very well then. Let’s not test His Royal Highness’ patience.” Looking around, he said, “Where’s Ward?”

“Socialising with another guest, sir. You want me to get him back?”

“No, don’t worry, Rumlow. The boy’s probably having fun, and you and Rollins can do the job well enough.” Handing his glass to Rollins, he gestured forward. “Shall we?”

“After you.” Giving Rollins the stink-eye for accepting the glass from Pierce and not him, Tony congratulated himself on not fucking up a simple task, already eager to give Pepper the full account.

***

“Can I ask you something?”

Leaping a short mile into the air, Clint silently cursed his hearing aids for not being advanced enough to let him know when someone was approaching from behind, and turned to see Bobbi looking at him inquisitively. “Shoot.”

“In the last ten minutes, I’ve seen you take an arrowhead out of your pocket no less than six times,” she said. “What’s so special about it?”

“You mean this?” Clint held it out in his hand. “It’s my totem. I found it when I was a kid. Kept it because we travelled a lot, and it was nice to have a keepsake no-one else wanted.”

Bobbi hummed, looking at it closely. “Is it Native American?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice.” She frowned. “Does it have writing on it?”

Clint nodded. “‘Danyi’. It’s Siouan.”

“What does it mean?”

He gasped. “You can’t ask me that!” he cried in mock-outrage. “That’s like me asking you how old you are!”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

“… I’m still not telling you what it means.”

“Okay,” she said, “but why not?”

“’Cause then it won’t work.” He closed his fingers around it, feeling the edges press against them. “Whenever I’m in someone else’s dream, the word changes,” he explained. “The subconscious automatically translates it into what they think it means. Assuming they know I have it, of course.”

Bobbi looked impressed. Something caught her eye over Clint’s shoulder, her posture shifting from relaxed to ready. “Where’s Bucky?”

“Restroom. Why?”

One corner of her mouth stretched upwards. “I think the show’s about to start,” she said, and left Clint where he was. She returned at the same time as Bucky, telling them both to go to the private room.

When they got there, they were surprised to see Sam and Thor standing guard by the door. “Weren’t Pierce’s guys here?” Clint asked, and Thor grinned.

“They are not anymore,” he said. “Sam and I took great delight in dispatching them somewhere else.”

“Yeah, but only ’cause my guy wouldn’t shut the hell up,” Sam said, and shook his head. “Seriously, why am I always stuck with the overly-talkative ones?”

Smirking, Bucky said, “It’ll be birds next,” and Sam groaned.

“Don’t you jinx it.”

“You sure these guys aren’t gonna come back at you?” Clint asked.

“Quite sure,” Thor said. “Jessica is keeping an eye on them. If they should escape her custody, the Dora Milaje will be able to remedy that.”

“Can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy watching that,” Sam said. Clint agreed with him.

Inside, the team were setting themselves up on the sofas around the PASIV 2.0. Tony and Bruce were stringing out IV lines for everyone, with T’Challa and an unconscious Pierce already attached. Before joining them, Clint brushed the back of Bucky’s hand. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said, giving Clint a smile.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Tony said once everybody was comfortable. “You have one hour.”

“Good luck guys,” Bruce said, pressing the button.

As the Somnacin started to flow, Clint felt Bucky’s hand slip into his. The world darkened at the edges, and he let his eyelids drop.

***

The apartment was empty – no furnishings, no carpet, no window coverings. Clint squinted where he lay, eyes adjusting to the light coming through the glass; the sky looked clouded but bright, and he hoped that didn’t mean it was going to rain. Rolling up to his feet he was mildly surprised to find himself still in his suit, and, wondering where best to find everyone else, decided to start in the apartment next door, where he lucked out.

“Bucky,” he said, catching the man’s attention. “Come on, we’ve got to find the others.”

“Sure,” Bucky said with a nod, then turned back to the window. He, too, was still in his formal wear, and Clint could just make out the furrowed shape of his brow against the brightness from outside.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, but glanced anxiously between Clint and the window, and sighed. “The skyline looked wrong,” he admitted. “That’s all.”

Clint swallowed, stomach knotting slightly. “You okay?”

Turning away from the view, Bucky rolled his shoulders. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Down at street level, the two of them stopped by the road, looking for a gap amongst the slow-moving lanes of traffic. A car horn sounded to their right, and they noticed a large, black SUV pulling up nearby. The car door opened, and Steve stepped out, beckoning them in.

“Really?” Bucky said, taking the front passenger seat. “Thought we were being inconspicuous here.”

“This is the kind of car Pierce is used to,” Steve said, re-joining the traffic and handing them both a pair of sunglasses. “He’s more likely to automatically get in with us this way.”

“You seen the others?” Clint asked.

“Nat and T’Challa are right on our tail. No sign of Wanda yet.”

He twisted in his seat to look out of the back window. “Aw,” he whined, spotting Natasha’s red hair peeking out from under a motorbike helmet, the second one presumably T’Challa behind her. “She always gets the best rides.”

Once they could free themselves from the traffic, Steve drove towards the business district. They kept their eyes peeled for sign of either Wanda or Pierce, with the latter being spotted first. “Outside a bank,” Clint said. “What a surprise.”

“Where are you going?” Steve asked Bucky when he opened his door.

“To get the guy’s door for him,” Bucky said, disappearing before they could protest.

Steve sighed. “Clint, you loaded?”

“Ready and waiting,” he responded, conveniently finding a handgun holstered under his suit jacket.

The rear passenger door opened. “Thank you,” Pierce said, climbing into the empty seat. He gave Clint a cursory glance, but otherwise said nothing – until it became apparent that Bucky wasn’t closing the door. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem, sir,” Bucky said. “Just waiting on one more.”

“One more?”

As if summoned by the words, Wanda appeared in the car doorway, fixing Pierce with a glare. “Move across,” she said to him.

Pierce stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“You heard her,” Clint said, drawing his gun. “Come on. Snuggle up.”

Looking more put-out than anything, Pierce did as he was told, sliding into the middle seat so Wanda could sit beside him. “Who are you?” he asked as Bucky closed the door. “How much do you want?”

“More than you’re prepared to give,” Steve said, handing a black bag to Wanda. “Do as we say, and won’t hurt you.”

“How kind of you,” Pierce grunted, eyeing up Clint’s gun before Wanda covered his head. Clint gave her a thumbs-up, resisting the urge to pull funny faces at Pierce’s head and make her laugh.

“Everyone pay attention,” Steve warned, turning sharply down a street. “Nat and T’Challa have our back, but they won’t be able to stop everything.”

Checking his gun’s chamber, Bucky snorted. “You sure? I’ve seen Nat take down men twice her size in seconds.”

“Maybe so, but we don’t know what’s coming our way.”

“Police cars,” Clint said.

“That’s one possibility –”

“No, I mean there are police cars following us!”

Steve shifted gear as sirens began wailing in the distance. “How many?”

“Two so far,” Wanda said.

“I can’t see Nat,” Clint added. A sharp crack from the back of the car punctuated the end of his sentence, and everyone flinched.

“Wanda, keep Pierce covered,” Steve barked. “Clint, Bucky, do as much as you can!”

“On it,” Bucky said, opening his window and leaning out. Clint copied him, sticking his arm out of his own window and firing at the approaching police cars.

“Shit!” Without warning, the car swerved violently, the wheels screeching as Steve turned at an intersection. Clint cried out as the sudden move made him bang his head on the window frame, and he pulled himself back inside as the shots resumed.

“The hell happened?” he demanded.

“Sorry,” Steve said. “Two more were coming at us dead on.”

“Where’s Natasha when we need her?”

“Clint,” Bucky called, “some help here, please!”

Reloading his clip, Clint hauled himself back up and out of his window. As good a shot as he was, he didn’t know how long he could keep this up for; Steve was constantly avoiding slower traffic, pitching the car left and right, and a lot of Clint’s bullets were going wide. That, and the cops were shooting back at them.

“Where’s this warehouse, Wanda?”

Wanda leant forward as another bullet hit the back window. “Keep going, then take the slip road on the right.”

“We’ll end up leading them right to us!” Clint said, ducking inside to reload.

Bucky turned around in his seat, saying to Wanda, “Can’t you just build a wall up in front of them?”

She gaped at him. “You are not serious…”

“Hey!” Clint cried. “She’s back!”

A motorbike with two riders appeared behind the four police cars. Weaving between the civilians with ease, it drew closer and closer, coming within touching distance of one’s rear bumper. The police turned their attention on her, but Natasha was ready, firing with deadly accuracy as T’Challa lifted an arm. Almost standing straight up on the bike, he flung a device forward, and as soon as it left his hand Natasha was on the brakes, smoke spilling from the bike’s tyres. Instinctively, Clint ducked; a tremendous bang ripped through his hearing aids, making him yelp, and the car rocked a bit as the shockwave passed by, heat blanketing Clint’s face.

“What was that?” Steve cried.

“T’Challa,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the ringing in his ears. “Some kind of explosive.”

“He got three of them,” Bucky reported. “One left now.”

“Are Nat and T’Challa okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine –”

“Steve!” Wanda cried as a shadow fell over the car, and Steve slammed on the brakes. Making as much noise and smoke as T’Challa’s grenade had, a small, burning plane soared over the roof of the car. They all twisted round to watch it crash into the tarmac mere feet away from the last police car, engulfing it and the surrounding area in an impressive fireball, once again rocking the car and blasting heat into Clint’s face.

“What the fuck…”

“Everyone okay?” Steve asked.

“We need to go,” Bucky said, face ashen.

“Agreed.”

As he drove off, Clint released a breath as Natasha and T’Challa appeared around the edge of the wreckage in the road, both of them looking no worse for wear. He slumped back in his seat, head throbbing, and tried to steady his pounding heart.

***

“What the hell was that?” Natasha demanded as soon as she’d removed her helmet.

Arms full of an unconscious Pierce, Clint grunted, “Might ask you the same thing.”

She had already rounded on Bucky. “Did you think that was a good idea?”

“What?”

“T’Challa and I had things under control. You throwing a plane into the mix –”

“Wait, you think I did that?”

“You could have gotten us killed!”

“Guys!” Steve intervened, physically coming between Bucky and Natasha. “Now is not the time.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, stood with Wanda next to the minibus, an unconscious Pierce slung between them. “It might be an old one, but the unconscious body is still heavy.”

“Allow me,” T’Challa said, moving to take Pierce’s legs from Wanda. She opened the back of the minibus up, and the three of them set about seating Pierce.

“We need to rethink things,” Natasha said harshly. “Another incident like that could ruin us.”

“It’s not going to ruin us,” Steve said, but she directed her next words at Bucky.

“You said we could trust you.”

“And you can,” he said, “that plane wasn’t me.”

“Who else could it have been?”

Steve held up a hand. “It could have been me, but Natasha –”

“If Pierce had seen that, we could be dead,” she snapped, “and this job would be over before it had even started.”

“What do you want us to do about it?” Bucky said. “Sorry one of us almost dropped a plane on your head, we’ll try not to let it happen again?”

“Buck –”

“We don’t even know how it happened!”

“Before it did,” Wanda said quietly, stepping down from the minibus, “you asked me to manipulate the dream to stop the projections.” Wringing her hands, she added, “What if you did it yourself?”

Bucky stared at her, eyes wide. He opened his mouth, but words failed him. Expression grave, Steve put his hands on his hips, frowning at the warehouse floor. Clint’s heart was in his throat – he didn’t want Bucky’s journey to be over this soon.

“If I may,” T’Challa said, stepping forward. “Regardless whose fault the accident was, it was clearly just that: an accident. Whether it will happen again or not, none of us can say, but the best thing we can do now is move on with proceedings. Miss Romanova and I are unhurt, Mr. Pierce is still with us, and we have limited time before his defences regroup. Changing anything now would be messy and, potentially, more foolish.”

“You’re right, Your Highness,” Steve said, glancing once more between Bucky and Natasha. “Bucky’s doing fine so far, Nat. If we all stay positive, we can each get through this in one piece.” He looked them all in the eye. “Watch each other’s backs.”

“Yessir,” Clint chimed with a smirk, coaxing smiles out of Wanda and Steve.

“Come, then,” T’Challa said, and everyone moved towards the minibus.

“Hey,” Clint murmured as he caught Bucky’s arm. “You okay?”

He huffed. “I thought I was.”

“Don’t take it personally. Natasha’s –”

“She’s looking out for the team, I know. I would probably do the same.”

“Your death glare is almost as good as hers,” Clint said. Bucky’s lips twitched. “Next level’s easier, anyway. We’ll be fine.”

Once everyone had taken a seat, with Steve back at the wheel, Natasha brought out the next PASIV and everybody hooked themselves up, T’Challa attaching a line to Pierce. “Remember,” Steve said from the front, “as soon as we’re spotted, we’re essentially sitting ducks. I’ll do my best to keep things even, but the ride might get a little bumpy at times.”

“Just don’t get us killed,” Natasha said.

“What about the kick?” Bucky asked.

Steve started the engine. “You’ll know it when it comes.”

As the minibus left the warehouse, Wanda pressed the centre of the PASIV, and Clint felt himself slipping under once more.

***

Natasha gazed into the restroom’s wall-length mirror, studying her face carefully, and applied the final finishing touches to Ophelia Sarkissian’s make-up. Now that she was in the dream, she wasn’t entirely certain that her lipstick shade matched the colour she’d most often seen Ophelia wearing, and was bargaining on a lack of attention to make-up brands on Pierce’s part to let the mistake slide. Not that it ultimately mattered; a slight change in familiar detail could be worked to her advantage. If he paid attention to anything, she reasoned, it would be her dress: a dark, forest green number with black trim, floor-length but low cut at the front and the back, a long slit up one leg. Natasha had to praise Ophelia on her fashion sense, and knowing how to lure people into her clutches. Satisfied she’d constructed a near-perfect façade, she packed up her purse and stepped out into the main gallery.

The art display was, supposedly, a collection of modern abstracts, featuring both paintings and sculptures that the viewer either found pleasing to look at and unpick or too confusing to be enjoyable. Strolling around, Natasha suspected Pierce’s subconscious was the one filling the gallery with things he’d consider art, and wondered if anything she was looking at reflected his political alignments. If she’d had the time, she would have tested that theory more thoroughly, but as soon as she caught sight of the Secretary of State – admiring a large, apparently plain white canvas – it was time to put her costume to good use.

“Alex!” she said, sidling up to him.

“Ophelia,” he greeted, a smile lighting up his face. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Ah, well I thought you might,” Natasha said, accepting a kiss on each cheek. “What do you think of the display? It’s certainly abstract, is it not?”

Pierce chuckled. “Too abstract, some might say, but I find a lot of these pieces incredibly thought-provoking. This one, for example –”

“Alexander,” Natasha said. “I would love nothing more than to talk culture with you, my dear, but I’m afraid that’s not why I’m here.”

His brow creased. “Oh?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Natasha stepped closer, lowering her voice as she spoke. “None of this is real. We are not at an art gallery, I am not wearing this fantastic dress, and you are not experiencing the joy that is ‘Rabbit in a Snowstorm’.” When his expression grew more confused, she placed a hand on his lapel. “You are dreaming, Alex.”

Pierce’s eyebrow rose. “Dreaming?” he repeated, sounding amused.

“Yes.” Aware of dozens of eyes moving from studying the art to studying her, Natasha continued, “You have been kidnapped in real life – three men and a woman. They took you from the streets and drugged you; you’re now unconscious in the back of a minibus.”

“What are you talking about, Ophelia?” Pierce laughed.

“How did you come here?”

“By car, obviously.”

“When?”

He faltered. “When it started, surely…”

“And before that?”

“Before what?”

“Before coming here. What did you do? Who were you with?”

Frowning, he started to say, “I was with…” but when he came up blank, the projections filling the art gallery turned their full attention to the pair of them. “I – I can’t remember.”

“You can,” Natasha assured him. “Think, Alex – three men, one woman. Maybe you didn’t see their faces, but they picked you up in a black car –”

“Outside the bank…” He wiped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, God. They’ve got me. I remember it now, one of them said I wouldn’t be willing to pay!”

“Alex.”

“I need to wake up.”

“Alexander, listen to me –”

“Why?” he said. “If I’m dreaming, then you’re not real.”

“It’s because you are dreaming that I am here,” she said, taking him by the shoulders. “I’m the trained part of your subconscious, a projection designed to be both familiar and trustworthy. I am here to help you work out how to stop them and protect your secrets –” the projections around them were closing in – “but you need to trust me. Okay?”

“But you aren’t real.”

“That’s right, I’m not. But if I was not on your side, why would I bring that to your attention?”

The people surrounding them stopped. For a few long seconds, Natasha maintained eye-contact with Pierce and waited, hardly daring to breathe. She hadn’t gone out of her way to interview Ophelia Sarkissian for over an hour to fall at this hurdle. Her team were relying on her to come through, and she was doing her damnedest not to let them down.

After what seemed like an age, Pierce nodded. “Alright,” he said, and the guests turned their backs on them, dispersing to examine the art once more. “What do we do?”

“I have some friends in a nearby hotel,” Natasha said, linking her arm through his and guiding him to the gallery entrance. “We are fortunate in that we know what these people are looking for, and we are confident that we can bolster your defences before they do any damage.”

“That’s good,” Pierce said, keeping pace with her. “Tell me what you can.” Natasha smiled.

***

For what felt like the billionth time in the space of ten minutes, Steve was told, “Please make a U-turn as soon as it is convenient.”

“You make a U-turn!” Stopping at a red light, he leant across the dashboard to poke at the Sat-Nav, growing more frustrated with it by the second.

“Recalculating.”

“No no no –”

“Please make a U-turn –”

“Ah, come on!”

Giving up on the technology altogether, Steve opted to drive around for as long as he could without incurring too much damage. His constant watch of the bus’ mirrors was almost distracting, and a few times he nearly caused collisions at lights and intersections – but his vigilance wasn’t for naught.

“Round two,” he muttered, catching sight of some fast-moving cars making their way up the road behind him. With a quick check on his passengers, Steve shifted gear and gripped the steering wheel. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Immediately, Steve realised he was going to struggle; the minibus was a far cry from the SUV he’d had under him not so long ago, slow to respond and nowhere near as balanced. He worried that any bullets would also find their way through, and every knock and tap on the side of the bus had his heart stuttering in his chest. Nevertheless, he did his best to lose his pursuers, putting his foot down where he could and narrowly avoiding a few more collisions.

Finally, after taking after doubling back on himself around a block, Steve checked his mirrors to find them clear or angry projections. “Yes!” he hissed, thumping the steering wheel in triumph.

It was then that a truck drove at full speed into the side of the bus.

***

The large hotel room Wanda had made for them was something Clint could quite happily have stayed in had it existed in real life. Spacious, modern, yet comfortable, with two plush queen beds and inviting armchairs by the windows. The en-suite bathroom was nothing to be sniffed at, either. It was almost a shame that none of them would really get to benefit from staying in it.

“Here. Janitor didn’t notice a thing,” Clint said, handing Wanda a hotel room master card. “Remind me again why the colours are so important?” he asked in reference to his shirt, which was not only snugly fitting but a glossy black colour he would have expected to see on Fury over anyone else. Bucky and T’Challa were in the same attire (and managing to pull it off much more successfully than him), and Wanda was in a strangely straight-looking high-collared dress, also a rather distasteful shade of green. All in all, Clint would rather have been back in his ‘cheap’ suit.

“Natasha insisted,” Wanda said, kneeling by a PASIV. “Something to do with Ophelia’s tastes.”

“And this will help convince Pierce that we are his allies?” T’Challa asked, sounding as sceptical as Clint felt.

“She believed so.”

On one side of the room, Bucky was inspecting a piece of artwork: a line drawing of a city skyline, the kind an architect might sketch in their spare time. Turning to Wanda, he asked, “Is this a real piece of art?”

She shook her head. “No. Something I doodled once in a lecture I found boring. I’ve given it much more detail here, though.”

“It’s good,” Bucky said, then glanced around the rest of the room. “Mind if I add one of my own?”

“Bucky,” Clint said warningly.

“Just one piece,” he pleaded, adding, “I won’t get carried away, and it won’t affect the integrity of the dream. If we’re the only ones in this place to see it change, how is Pierce going to know it was ever any different?”

Clint and Wanda exchanged looks. “He has a point,” she said. “And if Natasha has already made Pierce aware that he is dreaming…”

Still uncertain, Clint looked to T’Challa. “I see no harm in it,” the king said.

Giving it another minute of deliberation, Clint caved. “Alright. But nothing too big, and nothing that Pierce would already know.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky said, already approaching a new square on the wall. “I got this.” The others watched as the frame filled itself in, almost mirroring Wanda’s pencil design – it showed a gleaming city, a fairground or circus top poking up above some trees on one side, a beach curving along the foreground.

“It is a risky strategy Miss Romanova is employing,” T’Challa said as Bucky worked.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “The ‘Mr Charles’ game plan.”

“You have tried it before?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “It was invented a few years back by some well-known extractor – Karb? Cobb? Something like that. Word is it worked for him, though, and in theory it’s pretty solid.”

“I hope it is not easily disproven, then,” T’Challa said. Clint tried not to dwell on how ominous that was.

“That looks nice,” Wanda said when Bucky was done, moving closer to look at the frame. “How did you come up with it?”

He shrugged. “It just happened,” he said. “Barely had to use any imagination.”

“You would do well in my design classes,” she mused; but Clint wasn’t as dazzled by the picture. Something about it, about the ease with which Bucky had dreamt it up, put him on edge. He would have questioned Bucky on it more had the door not opened then, and Pierce entered the room, a woman with black hair and a green dress close behind him.

“We are safe here,” she said, shutting the door behind them and turning the lock. Guiding Pierce towards the PASIV, she added, “The sooner we can go into the next layer of the dream, the better chance we have of protecting your secrets.”

“This is your team?” Pierce asked, allowing himself to be pushed into one of the chairs.

“It is.”

He scrutinised Wanda as she knelt to tape the IV line to his wrist. “Have we met before?” Wanda froze.

“If they seem familiar,” Natasha said quickly, “it is only because you are wary of them, and so your mind has given them faces that you have been wary of in the past.” Smiling, she touched a hand to his face. “You have nothing to worry about, my dear.”

Suddenly, the world lurched sideways forcefully. Everyone was thrown against one wall, the cityscape Bucky had just created falling from its hanging place to land on top of his head. The chairs turned over, sending Pierce sprawling, and the PASIV slid into Wanda’s stomach heavily. Glass in the windows shattered, luckily not falling onto anyone, and the echo of a crash faded away, leaving the room still once more.

“The fuck was that?” Clint said, checking his hearing aids were in place. Beside him, Bucky held up his new artwork, the front of the frame now badly cracked. It looked almost like lightning, Clint thought.

“We must hurry,” T’Challa urged, helping Natasha return the seats to their upright position.

Looking unhappy, Pierce nodded, and the rest of them finished hooking up to the PASIV. Clint cast a glance at Bucky as they got comfortable on the floor, raising an eyebrow in question. Bucky made a brief ‘okay’ symbol with his fingers.

“Remember,” Natasha said as Wanda prepared to start the sedative. “I cannot follow you into this dream directly.”

“But I can trust your team,” Pierce said.

“And their leader: Natalia. She may only be a projection of your subconscious, but she will represent me while you are down there.”

“You said I should stick with her.” Shifting in his seat, Pierce sighed shortly, and Clint wondered what he had to be irritated about. “Let’s begin, then.”

“Good luck,” Wanda said, and pressed the yellow button. She waited, listening to the hissing of the machine as her team’s eyes drifted shut, and after counting to five to make sure they were safely under, she pulled a black hold-all out from under the bed. Inside were four explosives, ready to be primed and placed. With one last check to make sure everyone was okay (and a quick prayer that Steve was, too), she pocketed the stolen key card, let herself out and headed for the stairs.

***

It shouldn’t have surprised anyone that Pierce’s secrets would be kept in an impressive location – the man liked power and art, after all. But Clint was certain that a cavernous vault set into a mountain was a little bit over the top. Just a little. From the looks on the others’ faces, he wasn’t the only one.

“Looks like something out of a Tolkein novel,” Bucky muttered, and Clint agreed. Dark and metallic, the open entrance hinted at a depth that both intrigued and alarmed him, the high ceiling invisible in the poor lighting. If every secret Pierce had kept over his lifetime was stored in there, then it looked to Clint like he had more than the FBI, the CIA, and Nicholas J. Fury combined – and that was a hell of a lot of secrets.

“Everyone ready?” Natasha asked, fastening two bracelets around her wrists. They were all wearing tactical gear, including Pierce (which Clint found greatly amusing), and the black clothes helped hide them against the edge of the vault, but Clint recognised her signature weapon. Pierce, however, seemed oblivious.

“What do I have to do?” he asked her.

“This is James,” she said, indicating Bucky. “He can help determine whether or not your secrets are safe.”

“If the people who are after you aren’t asking for a ransom,” Bucky said, “it’s likely they’re after something that could ruin you. They’ll want personal information – maybe stuff about family, friends, colleagues – or political secrets, perhaps regarding who you work for, what you intend to do in the future, how the country’s international relations are, etc. We need to find all those weak points and put them somewhere even safer. Agreed?” Pierce agreed. “Good. Now –” he put a hand on T’Challa’s shoulder – “me and my friend here are going to accompany you into the vault while the others stay here to guard our backs.”

“No.”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

“I’m not comfortable with that,” Pierce said, and looked suspiciously between Bucky and Clint. “You two. I don’t know where I know you from, but you are far too familiar for my liking.”

Natasha said, “Did Ophelia explain –”

“Yes, she explained why that might be, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m not comfortable going in with you, James, and that’s that. Your friend? Fine. I feel I can rely on him.”

“Somebody trained in this needs to go with you,” Bucky insisted.

“Ophelia said that Natalia had been trained.” He looked at Natasha. “Have you?”

Hesitantly, she admitted that she had. “But James is –”

“Well then it’s settled,” Pierce said. “I will go in with this man and Natalia.” And before anyone could protest further, he turned and made his way into the vault.

Staring after him, Bucky shook his head. “Stubborn ass,” he grumbled.

“Can you do this?” T’Challa asked Natasha.

Unzipping the bag on her back, she said, “I can. The person who trained James also trained me. I’m almost as good as he is, I just lack the practice.”

“I know you can do it,” Bucky said. “Clint and I can take care of anything that comes at us.”

Closing the rucksack up again, Natasha handed them four small devices. “Put these around the entrance and down on the trail,” she instructed. “We’ll set them off when we hear the music, start a landslide.”

“Make sure you’re not late then,” Clint told her.

She smirked at him. “I’ll arrive precisely when I mean to,” she said, and with a word of luck from T’Challa, they hurried after Pierce.

Clint pointed after them. “She thinks it’s a Dwarven palace too.”

Bucky smiled fondly at him. “Come on,” he said, “we’ve got some damage to cause.”

Taking two explosives each, they went either side of the vault’s wide opening and then further down the path leading to it. “You don’t think we should have put them higher up?” Clint asked when they came together again.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Maybe Wanda designed in such a way that –” A distant engine sound cut him off, and they both turned to look behind them; at the bottom of the long path, a cluster of motorbikes and quad bikes appeared, foot soldiers riding in trailers on the back of the latter. They were all very clearly armed.

“Well this looks like it could be fun,” Clint said.

“Yeah. Think they want something of ours.”

“They’re welcome to come and try getting it.”

“As long as they don’t kill us in the process.”

“They’re welcome to try that, too.”

Bucky grinned. “If you want him, come and claim him.”

Clint laughed, calming himself down when he noticed the sniper rifle in Bucky’s hands. “Nice,” he said, nodding in approval. “Bit modern though.”

Already looking down the sight, Bucky replied, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dwarves don’t have rifles,” he said, lips stretching up into a grin as his fingers curled around a grip. “But they do have bows.”

***

With the last explosive in the final corner of the room, Wanda climbed down from the chair and checked her watch. She had enough time to return to the team and set up the music for Natasha, then prepare herself for the oncoming kick. Thinking about it already unnerved her, and she clutched at the pendant in her pocket. “Just a dream,” she whispered. “You’ll wake up and be fine. As always.”

Leaving the hotel room, she locked the door behind her and made for the stairs once more, keeping her head high and her stride confident. The dress felt like it was choking her slightly, but she knew it made her look as though she belonged there, and that was what was important – yet she thought she’d seen a concierge giving her a strange look as she passed, and now that Pierce wasn’t directly influencing his projections, it was possible they were assessing her as a threat. The last thing Wanda wanted was a fight.

Rounding the last corner before the stairs, however, she stopped in her tracks at the sight of two men in suits standing in front of the doorway. Everything about them screamed ‘security’, from their body shapes to their earpieces, and Wanda started to panic. Forcing herself to stay calm – outwardly, if not inwardly – she composed herself and strode past them, keeping her eyes forward as she gauged their reaction to her from her peripherals. The men watched her pass like lions watching a zookeeper, deciding whether or not she was worth their time; a second before she lost sight of them, they turned away, and Wanda refrained from letting out a shaky breath in relief.

The elevator was straight ahead of her, and with the stairs a no-go, it seemed like her only option back to the correct floor. It was empty when the doors opened, and she stepped inside gratefully, pushing the button for the seventh floor. When the elevator started to move down, she swallowed. “Two shafts,” she said to herself. “Two elevator shafts next time.”

On the ground level, a lot of people stepped in with her, and she ended up surrounded by men and women in smart clothing. Most of them gave her a strange look as they entered, keeping to the walls of the elevator, and by the time the doors closed there were ten people in front, behind, and next to her. Nobody pushed for a floor below the seventh. Fighting to maintain an inconspicuous air, Wanda tried to think how one of the others would handle such a situation.

_“Casual, Wanda. It’s all about being super casual. The casualest. Er – most casual.”_

She let out a soft laugh at the memory of Clint teaching her inconspicuousness, and immediately froze as the ten projections around her stared at her in one, oddly synchronised motion. Heart speeding up, she panicked. “You don’t have to – ah!”

All of them were caught by surprised as the elevator tipped on its side and began to rotate as if it was rolling them down a hill. Falling against, between, and underneath the people stuck inside with her, Wanda prayed she would make it out of the hotel alive.

***

Car horns blared as Steve floored the minibus down the main road, the motorbike on his side catching up with ease. As the driver drew level enough to aim his gun through the window, Steve wrenched the steering wheel sideways, taking the cyclist by surprised and sending him flying into the next lane of traffic.

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve mumbled, checking his mirrors a little guiltily. How the minibus was still going was beyond him, but he thanked every deity he could think of that it was – albeit, missing the back doors and a few back seats, courtesy of the truck a few intersections back – because they would be devastatingly exposed without it. This bus was the team’s only form of protection against Pierce’s defences, as well as their kick. He considered bolstering it a bit with some bullet-resistant materials, but more gunshots brought his mind back into focus.

Heading out of the city, the Sat-Nav happily told him to follow the road for the next few miles. Between evasive driving and mirror-checking, Steve caught glimpses of the reservoir he was headed for, still a way off but growing ever closer. The raised highway was busier than he’d hoped, and the minibus was struggling to make any ground over the pursuing cars whilst switching between the lanes as often as possible. Feeling the pressure, Steve was just waiting for something to go catastrophically wrong – and it did.

From a lay-by he didn’t see in time, a car pulled out sharply, cutting across two lanes of traffic and aiming right for the minibus. Steve’s response was to swerve out of the way, sending the bus through the barrier and over the side of the hill. Without losing momentum it pitched onto its side, rolling over several times before miraculously coming to rest on its wheels, right at the edge of the returning side of the highway.

Panting hard, Steve immediately checked the rest of the team, almost crying out with relief when he was sure they were unharmed. He himself had a new cut on his forehead, the blood trickling faintly into his eyebrow, but as long as he was able to drive Steve didn’t care what ailed him. Sticking the minibus back into gear, he turned them around and joined the cars heading into the city, wondering if he’d be able to lose the projections in doing so.

“Please make a U-turn as soon as it is convenient.”

“I hate you.”

***

Inside the vault, the walls of which turned out to be lined with safety deposit boxes, the crack of a sniper’s rifle made Pierce flinch. Natasha’s lips twitched as she held back a smirk, instead saying, “Don’t worry about that. Concentrate.”

Doing as he was told, Pierce grunted, “You make it sound like my life isn’t on the line.”

“You know what happens when you die in a dream, right?”

“Death is death, my dear. I doubt it’s pleasant in any state.”

Sharing a glance with T’Challa, she quirked an eyebrow. “He’s not wrong.” The sniper sounds were coming fairly regularly now, and she spared a thought for James and Clint facing death (or something worse) on their behalf.

The king chuckled. “I would say that if the stakes were not so high, a taste of it might do him some good.”

“Wakanda’s king has a ruthless streak, I see.”

“Only when in the company of ruthless men,” he said, steely gaze on Pierce. “I think,” he added, “that regardless of what we discover here today, I will not be conducting business with Secretary Pierce.”

Natasha stared at him. “You won’t?”

“No. The work of Director Fury and this team has proven to me that there is much more to this man than we are led to believe. I cannot in good faith trust that he will use the vibranium for the benefit of anyone but himself and his friends, and if the worst should happen – the weaponised monstrosity that the Director fears – then I would share the responsibility and the guilt, as would the people of Wakanda.” He shook his head. “And that is not something a true king could allow.”

“Are you two going to help me or what?” Pierce demanded, closing another deposit box.

“We shouldn’t be wasting time with these,” Natasha said. “These secrets are too small, too insignificant. Anything worth stealing would be in more secure holdings.”

Pierce put his hands on his hips. “So we’re looking in the wrong place,” he said, biting on his bottom lip. He pointed to the end of the vault. “Should we go further down?”

“It’s worth a look,” she agreed, and followed him down. Sure enough, at the back of the cavern, a large safe stood alone on a stone pedestal, sleek and shiny.

“This must be it,” Pierce said, a note of wonder in his voice.

“It looks unopened,” T’Challa noted. “Can you get into it?”

“I thought that was your job.”

“Only you know the code,” Natasha told him. “You might not realise you do, but this is your mind, Alexander. It’s hard to lock yourself out.”

“I see,” Pierce said, and stepped up to the keypad on the safe. She watched closely as his fingers hovered over the pad, typing in the number 32784199999 after a moment of thought. The door opened with a soft click, swinging back to reveal a sheath of papers. “They’re there.”

“All of them?” she asked. “It could be a trick.”

He pointed at T’Challa. “He said it didn’t look broken into.”

“Appearances can be deceptive,” T’Challa said.

Natasha added, “Better safe than sorry,” and Pierce relented, picking up the documents. She let him look over the first few before priming one of her Bites, then stepped behind him and jabbed it into his neck. “Okay,” she said to T’Challa, “he should be out for a few minutes. The papers are all yours.”

T’Challa bent down and snatched them from Pierce’s limp hand, holding them tightly as he scanned each page. It wasn’t long before he stopped reading. “It would seem Alexander Pierce is not only a member of Hydra,” he said, holding the page out to Natasha, “but its present-day leader.”

Shocked, Natasha took it from him to read herself, going over every word twice. Once she accepted that she wasn’t being deceived, she tossed the papers back in the safe and closed it firmly. “We should help Clint and James,” she said, and together they ran back to the front of the vault.

***

The elevator doors opened with a ‘ding!’, and with all the strength she could muster, Wanda finally threw the last of her attackers out into the corridor, following him out to deliver a sharp kick to his head. Breathing hard, she dropped to her knees beside him, a deep ache wrapping itself around her black and blue limbs. “Never again,” she vowed.

Resting for a moment while she still could, Wanda checked her watch. There was time enough to get back to the others and stay out of trouble, and the fear of more projections finding her spurred her onto her feet. She dusted her dress down, ran a hand over the wilder parts of her hair, and was about to set off towards their room when something on the floor caught her eye – brass numbers, mostly sevens. The same numbers that should have been on the doors.

Wanda’s stomach dropped. She’d numbered the doors for a reason beyond appearances: so that everyone could quickly remember which room to find should they leave it at any point. Hurrying down the length of the corridor though, and even around the corner, she saw the same scene – the hotel room numbers scattered over the carpet rather than on their respective doors.

“Oh, no, no, no,” she moaned, trying to sort the numbers out. She could see plenty of sevens and ones and a few twos, but nothing to indicate which door they could have been grouped together on. For all she knew, the door closest to her could have been room 712, or something entirely different; and with the numbers failing her, there was only one way to find out.

Fumbling in her pocket for the master card, Wanda approached the nearest door, pressing her ear against it. She heard nothing from the other side, and stepped away from it. Taking a breath to steady her nerves, she slid the card into the lock and opened it.

The room was empty; so were the next five she tried, and none of them had anything to help her work out how far away from room 712 she was. As she was crossing over to the sixth door, she glanced back down at her watch, and gasped – there was only a few minutes left before she had to play the music for Natasha.

“Hey!”

Jumping at the shout, Wanda was alarmed to see the security men from the floor below at the end of the corridor. As they started running for her, she pulled on every architectural trick she had learned from the people who had tutored her – from Clint himself to her teacher, Professor Page – and stretched the corridor, altering the walls and the angles and the measurements to make herself appear as far away as she could, just to buy some more time.

With the projections shouting in disbelief but still coming at her, she tried to slot the card into the sixth door, her shaking hands making the task nearly impossible – but when the light finally turned green, Wanda dived in without a second thought, closing it after her and leaning back against it quicker than she ever knew she could move. Thanks to the pounding of her heart and her shock at how close she had come to another fight, it took her a few seconds to realise which room she was in.

“Thank God!” she cried, almost collapsing with relief at the sight of her sleeping friends – not quite in the positions she had left them in, but not looking seriously hurt. She kept herself standing, forcing herself to re-focus and assess her situation. The timer was ticking, and her team were counting on her.

***

“Who do you think’s having a harder time?” Bucky called, firing off another shot. On the path ahead, a motorbike fell from beneath its riders. “Us or Steve?”

“How the hell should I know?” Clint shouted back. He nocked two arrows, shooting them at a pair of gunmen running up the slope towards them. “Although, thinking back to what happened in the hotel room…”

“Yeah. You might have a point.”

More figures appeared at the bottom of the path. “Damn,” Clint said. “How many of these bastards are there?”

“Well, I’ve hit thirty-nine so far,” Bucky said.

“Really?” A fresh arrow in place, Clint fired it at the next runner. “Forty-one.” He heard Bucky bark out a laugh.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Just call me Legolas.”

Bucky groaned, protesting at being subjected to more Lord of the Rings references even as they both co to use to keep score. It wasn’t long before the sound of footsteps approaching had Bucky turning around, his rifle pointed straight at Natasha.

“That’s how we say ‘hello’ now?”

“Shit, Nat. Warn a guy next time!”

“What’s the news?” Clint asked, still fending off the projections.

“The Secretary of State is Hydra,” T’Challa said.

“That’s great! I think…”

“You boys need a hand?” Natasha asked.

“Sure,” Bucky said. “We’ve kept them out of range so far, but they seem to be calling in backup faster than we can pick them off.”

“I reckon they’re using brainwaves,” Clint said, grinning. “Get it?” he called over his shoulder. “Brainwaves? ’Cause we’re in a dream –”

“We get it. You’re hilarious,” Natasha said drily as she and T’Challa passed by.

Covering them as they ran to meet the projections, Clint said to Bucky, “Wanna watch a film when we’re done here?”

“What, you don’t want to enjoy the rest of the free champagne at our fingertips?”

“… Touché. And then a film?”

“If you don’t pass out on my shoulder, maybe.”

Watching Natasha fight had always been something Clint enjoyed – her movements were fluid and precise, as graceful as a ballerina with all the force of an assassin. Seeing her fighting alongside T’Challa, however, was a whole other spectacle entirely. The king was just as fast and deadly as Natasha was, acrobatic and fierce, and though their styles differed greatly it still looked as if they were dancing to the same music. They took care of the final projections so efficiently that all Bucky and Clint could do was stand there slack-jawed.

“Nice moves, Your Highness,” Bucky said when they were reunited.

“Thank you, my friend.” T’Challa smiled at Natasha. “It was a good fight.”

“Been training with the Dora Milaje, then?” Clint asked as they began the walk up to the vault.

“If by ‘training with’ you mean ‘instructing’, then yes, Mr. Barton, regularly.” Seeing Clint’s dumbstruck expression, he laughed. “I am a warrior king,” he explained, “like my forefathers. It is a mantle passed down through generations, and one I bear proudly.”

“Wow,” Clint said. “That’s… Wow. You’re officially the most badass king I’ve ever met.”

“He’s the only king you’ve ever met,” Bucky said.

“I am honoured you think so,” T’Challa said. “You are one of the most badass archers I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

Feeling himself blush, Clint elbowed Bucky in the side. “The King of Wakanda called me badass,” he whispered.

“Yes, I heard it too.”

“Oh, good, ’cause for a moment I thought my hearing aids –”

“Come back for more, have you?”

The four of them stopped at the top of the path. Between them and the opening to the vault stood Pierce, a gun in his hand and aimed directly at them.

“Not satisfied with your haul?”

“Pierce –” Natasha raised her hands, stepping forward slowly – “put the gun down.”

“Do you truly believe I’m that stupid?” he asked, and gave a half-smile. “You’ve fooled me once, Natalia, and maybe even more than that. I won’t let you do so again. Your weapons, please. On the ground.”

Slowly, Bucky and Clint laid down the bow and the sniper rifle, taking a step away from them once they let go. Pierce even made Natasha take off her Widow’s Bites, watching her keenly with every move she made.

“We don’t want anything else from you,” Clint said. “Put that away, and we all get out of here unharmed.”

“That may be so,” he said. “But what if I don’t want you to leave unharmed?”

“No!”

Clint hardly saw either Pierce or Bucky move – there was a bang, and a heavy weight knocking him backwards onto the ground, followed quickly by another loud bang and someone distantly crying out. His head throbbed where it had smacked against the earth, and it was only once he blinked away the stars swarming his vision that the pieces fit themselves into a nightmare.

“Bucky.” He grunted as he pushed himself out from under the body, sitting up faster than his head liked. “Bucky?”

Bucky was shaking, a hand pressed to his collarbone. He coughed wetly, a red trickle starting at the corner of his mouth.

“Tasha!”

She came running instantly, eyes widening in horror when she reached them. “James?”

“He’s hurt, Nat, it’s bad –”

“I know, Clint.” Hastily taking off her jacket, Natasha told him, “Put this over him; keep pressure on the wound. He just has to make it to the kick, Clint.”

“Right,” Clint mumbled as Bucky jerked under his touch. “You hear that, Buck? Just gotta hold on a few minutes. No trip to Limbo today.” He looked up as Natasha got to her feet. “Nat?”

“I going to get something!” she called over her shoulder.

His gaze switched from her to T’Challa, who was stood over Pierce, the gun in his hands. For a moment Clint thought the man was dead too, but a leg moved, and his hope dissolved. Replacing it was anger, hot and heavy, the kind that made him his father’s son. The kind he had vowed never to give into. But if it was only a dream…

“Clint.”

At the sound of his name, Clint forgot his rage, his attention honing on Bucky. “I’m here,” he said, taking hold of Bucky’s hand. “It’s alright, you just take it easy.”

He was visibly struggling to talk, choking out two words: “Not – s’rry.”

“Don’t worry about it now, alright? You’ll be alright. Hey, when we wake up, you can have my free champagne, yeah? Or sole choice of what movie we watch? Final decision on takeout… Bucky?” He’d gone still, a strange noise coming from his chest. “No no no, Bucky –”

The noise faded. In the silence, Clint heard the beginnings of an old French song.

_“Non, Rien de rien…”_

***

_“Non, Rien de rien…”_

The music filled the room in an uncanny manner, having no source or centre to easily pinpoint. From where she knelt next to Bucky, Wanda paused to process what she was hearing, then quickly finished moving him onto his back. She had just moved to grab the Walkman from under the bed when something hit the door loudly, hard enough to make it shake in its frame.

Wanda’s heart skipped a beat, and she rushed to get the headphones on Natasha’s head as another thump rattled the hotel door; but before she could start the music, the door burst open, and the security guards charged into the room.

Remembering what Natasha taught her, Wanda ducked between the first one’s legs, jamming her elbow into the back of his knee. As the second one lunged for her she kicked upwards, driving the toe of her shoe into his groin. The first guard grabbed her from behind, pinning her sideways to the floor with his weight, so she bent her neck forwards as much as she could and bit him hard in the shoulder. He recoiled with a yell, giving her space to roll away and climb to her feet, and before he could recover she punched him hard on the side of the head, crying out as her already bruised knuckles made contact. Seeing the second guard regaining his senses, she grabbed one of the bedside lamps from the floor and brought it down onto his head as well.

With both men unconscious and Edith Píaf still crooning above her, Wanda scrambled back to Natasha, and finally pressed ‘play’.

***

“Clint, don’t!”

“He killed him, Tasha!”

“Clint –”

“He sent him down there again!”

“Stop this!”

He stumbled as Natasha finally pushed him back, planting herself between him and Pierce. The feeling of furious helplessness threatened to crush him, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the politician on the ground.

“Look at me!” Natasha commanded, signing as well as speaking. “This is not helping James. Is it?”

No, but it would make him feel –

“Clint.”

“What can I do, Tasha?” he asked, the words heavy on his tongue. “I couldn’t do anything last time, how… How is this any different?”

“Because we’re still dreaming,” she said, and dragged him over to Bucky’s body. Taking his face in her hands, she looked him in the eye and told him, “Think: you can either stand here and give up on him without even trying, or you can go after him and bring him back in time for this kick.”

Hope sparked in Clint’s chest, and he lay down next to Bucky in a heartbeat. “How are we doing this?” he asked, rolling up a sleeve.

Opening the PASIV she’d retrieved from the vault, Natasha explained, “Putting you to sleep will send you into Limbo with Bucky. I’ll give you as much time as I can to find him, and then I’ll give you both a kick with these.” She tapped her Widow’s Bite, and Clint swallowed.

“You sure this’ll work?”

She paused. “I’m sure we should try.”

Breathing out steadily, Clint nodding, accepting the IV line she offered him. As the song continued to play above them, he turned his head to look at Bucky, vowing silently that this time he would be there for him.

***

_He had gotten used to the quiet. With Lucky at Kate’s, he was the only moving person in the apartment – the only one making coffee, the only one going to the bathroom, the only one eating when he couldn’t stave off the hunger any longer. His hearing aids lay on his bedside table, unwanted. Three days of silence, and who knew how many more._

_At times, he had to remind himself that Bucky was just sleeping. Bruce had checked him yesterday to confirm it, and while it was a relief to know he wasn’t in ill health, it was still disappointing to know there was really nothing to do but wait and hope; because he may just have been asleep, but nobody knew what happened if you died in Limbo. It was entirely possible that it meant Bucky would never wake up._

_For a moment on the first day, Clint had considered calling someone. Thinking it over, however, he decided against it – Kate had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with S.H.I.E.L.D. and Barney wasn’t the person you went to for sympathy. Anger, maybe, like after their parents had died, but worry and grief? No. Not yet, at least. (Part of him wondered how Barney would cope if it was Clint stuck in Limbo, and he resolved to let him know he was okay at some point.)_

_Sat by his bed on the third day, Bucky still sleeping on top of the covers, a movement at the bedroom doorway had Clint leaping out of his chair, heart going a mile a minute. Looking guilty, Steve raised his hands. He started to speak, and Clint raised a finger, retrieving his hearing aids with no small amount of reluctance._

_“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but Bruce said you weren’t looking so good, and then when you didn’t answer the door, I got worried, so…”_

_“So you thought you’d break in.”_

_He closed his mouth, frowning unhappily. “I’m trying to be a friend.”_

_As miserable as he was, Clint didn’t have the heart to take it out on Steve. He mumbled his thanks, and invited Steve in, accepting the bag of bagels he was given._

_“How is he?”_

_Clint shrugged. “The same.”_

_Hovering by Bucky’s feet, Steve nodded. “It should have been me,” he said._

_“What?”_

_“He wouldn’t let go until I did. If he’d gone when I told him to, or if I’d gone earlier, maybe –” he swallowed – “maybe he wouldn’t have gotten stuck.”_

_“That’s bullshit, Steve.”_

_“No, Clint, you weren’t –”_

_“Yeah, well it’s what he’d say.” Glancing at Bucky’s face, he added, “And you don’t deserve to be in this position any more than he does.”_

_For a moment, Steve didn’t respond. As Clint was contemplating removing his aids again, he heard, “How are you holding up, Clint?”_

_He blinked. “I’m…” The answer wouldn’t come. “I wish there was something I could do,” he whispered. A hand rested firmly on his shoulder._

_“He’ll come back,” Steve said. “Have faith in him.”_

_Hours later, Clint’s faith was rewarded._

***

Whatever Clint had been expecting from Limbo – after the long descriptions Bucky had given him and his own imaginings – he hadn’t expected to wake up with sand and saltwater in his mouth, nose, and eyes.

He wasted a lot of time coughing up the portion of the beach he’d swallowed, and for all that suffering he was still left feeling gritty and sore once he’d staggered to his feet. Uncomfortable inside and out, his clothes soaked to the point that they seemed fused to his skin, he looked around for signs of Bucky, barely making a half-turn before he froze on the spot, dumbfounded by what he saw.

To the side of the beach was a city spanning miles on either side, comprised of skyscrapers and apartment blocks each in varying states of ruin and decay. Some showed signs of having once held the tall, sculpted elegance of the Chrysler Building and the World Trade Centre, while others were greyed-out boxes missing entire sides where glass panes might have shone. If New York ever fell to an apocalypse, it might end up looking just like this, Clint thought, and butterflies swarmed in his stomach. He couldn’t find Bucky soon enough.

Keeping track of time as he navigated the desolate streets was useless. There were no birds, no people, no change in the light, no signs of any kind – just cracked roads and crumbling brickwork. With no way of knowing where he was or where Bucky could possibly be, Clint resorted to shouting his name to the heavens, and although his voice echoed wonderfully around the skeletal city – the only other sound above the rustling of the ocean – it never felt loud enough. Some stones and glass shards would tumble down in response, but otherwise everything was still and silent, goading him into trying again somewhere else. Yet the more streets he jogged down, and the more skyscrapers he passed, the more he shouted and waited and watched the place waste away bit by bit, the more futile the whole endeavour seemed.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, Clint had a breakthrough: between two buildings he caught a flash of colour. Not especially bright or vibrant, but something other than grey and brown – a faded red? – and his interest was suddenly renewed. Keeping the colour in his line of sight, Clint traversed more streets and intersections until he found it.

“What the…”

The circus top was as dilapidated as the rest of the city. Sat in an open space that reminded Clint distantly of Central Park, the tent was dirt-stained and torn, the red and yellow pattern hidden under a coating of dust and rubble. The flags had been ripped away, their lines hanging limply down the canvas. One of the central poles leaned inwards, distorting the top’s iconic shape, and the lightbulb sign above the entrance was missing both bulbs and electricity; not that Clint needed a sign to know exactly what he was looking at.

“This is Carson’s,” he said. “How did he… Shit.” More desperate to find Bucky, Clint ran past his childhood home, seeing another part of the city he recognised beyond it: an military base, the words ‘Camp Lehigh’ just visible on the splintered board. Bucky’s childhood home. Sensing a pattern, Clint surged on, and was rewarded for his efforts – the neighbourhood rose up around him again, the apartment blocks and random little shops gaining familiarity until he stopped at the foot of a building almost identical to the one he and Bucky lived in.

“Please let him be here,” he breathed, and the sky rumbled in response. He hadn’t noticed the darkening clouds, but he didn’t give them much thought as he entered the residence.

The inside of the building was a shocking contrast to the city outside – the foyer was clean and smart, well-lit, warm and dry. Nobody sat at the concierge desk, though, so Clint immediately headed upstairs. As in the hotel of Wanda’s dream, the doors of the corridors were all polished and closed, the numbers gleaming on their surfaces, but Clint ignored them all and made his way to the top floor, something pushing him past their own level to the apartment at the top. Heart hammering against his ribcage, he paused before opening the door numbered ‘616’ to take out his totem, smoothing his thumb over the word that should have read ‘danyi’. Here in Limbo, it said, ‘safety’.

“Right,” Clint muttered, tucking it away. “Because I’m so good at that.” With that, he finally entered.

Walking into an apartment almost identical to the one he lived in in real life was uncanny. The furniture, the décor, the kitchen, and where everything was placed was exact; the stand-out difference, however, were the huge windows and the panoramic view taking up three sides of the room. Clint saw the clouds again, now the colour of a dark, dangerous lake, accented by a white-blue flash of lightning. He breathed in deeply, already feeling like he’d been struck.

“Clint?”

And there was Bucky. Not a day older than when Clint had last seen him, not bleeding out from a bullet wound, fresh out of the shower, the red star tattoo peeking out from under his t-shirt sleeve, a look of pure delight on his face. Clint’s heart stuttered.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked happily, coming over to him.

“I came for you,” Clint said slowly, accepting a quick kiss and a tight embrace.

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me you were coming today.” He stepped back, looking down at their feet. “No bags?”

“Huh?”

“I thought you were bringing more stuff,” Bucky said, moving past Clint into the kitchen. “That’s generally what happens when you move in somewhere new, right?”

“Move in –”

“And I know some of your things are already here, but –”

“Whoa, wait, Bucky,” Clint said, finally catching on. “I’m not moving in.”

Seeing the happiness disappear from Bucky’s face was heart-breaking. The thunder growled in the distance. “But, you said you would…”

“When?” he said gently. “When did I say that?”

“The other day.”

“What were my exact words?”

Bucky hesitated. “Well I’m not going to remember them exactly –”

“Because I never said them; Bucky, you’re living in a dream.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘living the dream’.”

“No, it isn’t –”

“Look, Clint, if you changed your mind, just say so, okay?” Bucky snapped. “I’d rather hear that than some bullshit excuse.”

“I was never moving in, Bucky – you are dreaming,” Clint said. He gestured to the windows. “This isn’t our apartment, this isn’t our city. It’s Limbo, and we shouldn’t be here.”

Folding his arms, Bucky said, “I promised you I wouldn’t go there again, and I meant it.”

“Where’s your totem?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Where is it? When was the last time you checked it?”

Concern shaped Bucky’s features. “Clint, did something happen?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah – Fury, T’Challa, Pierce, the stupid vault, and I let you get… You don’t remember that?”

He shrugged. “Sounds like a dream I had recently, but you know we’re done with Fury. It’s been a year, we –” Reaching out, he squeezed Clint’s shoulders, smiling. “We deserve something like this.”

Clint pointed to the window again. “What city is that?” he asked. “It is empty, it is breaking, it is currently in the middle of a freak thunderstorm – Bucky, that doesn’t happen in real life.”

“Clint, please –”

“Carson’s Circus has never been next door to Camp Lehigh! They’re places in two different States! Heck, this apartment is supposed to be in New York, but that sure as hell isn’t New York out there.” The thunder was closer now, the clouds black shadows above them.

But Bucky was shaking his head. “We wanted to come here,” he said, frowning. “To get away from D.C., we chose this place together.”

“Bucky, you hate heights.”

“You always wanted a panoramic view…” He sounded uncertain.

An almighty thunderclap shook the apartment, the lightning almost blinding them both. Realising a set of porch doors had blown open, Clint started pulling Bucky towards the balcony, barely able to hear his protests above the wind.

“It’s dangerous – Clint, stop!” He wrenched himself free, and Clint spun around to face him.

“This is a dream, Bucky!”

“Don’t get yourself killed – that’s what you told me!”

“Because you would end up here, in Limbo!”

“Listen to me,” Bucky said, arms outstretched. “I know what you’re going through, okay? You’re confused, you don’t know what’s –”

“I once made a promise to you.”

Bucky stared at him. “What?”

“I said I would never let you be deceived, that I would always tell you the truth.” Looking him straight in the eye, Clint continued, “I might have let you down once already, but I’ve kept that promise, Bucky. I don’t intend to break it. So I will tell you again.” He moved closer, holding Bucky’s worried face in his hands as he said, “None of this is real. I know that for sure, and I am asking you to trust me now more than ever.” The apartment shuddered again, and Clint took a step backwards, holding one hand out for Bucky. “Take a leap of faith. Please.”

***

Falling was one of Clint’s least favourite ways of waking up, and he came to on the mountain path with a jerk. A loud gasp beside him drew his attention, and he saw Bucky come around with a full-body convulsion, Natasha’s Widow’s Bites bringing him back from the dead. He barely had any time to celebrate that fact before Natasha was hauling him to his feet.

“We have to go,” she said, bending down to Bucky. Realising the music was still playing, Clint helped her, each of them looping an arm over their shoulders to lift him to his feet. “T’Challa,” she called, “now!”

With a gun still trained on Pierce, T’Challa pressed down on a small detonator in his hand. The following explosions drowned out the sound of the music and shook the ground underneath them, the landslide building faster than Clint anticipated. Crouching down with everyone else, he held Bucky close against his side, closing his eyes as he braced for the impact. When he opened them again, it was to the sight of a hotel room ceiling shrinking away, dust and plaster flying overhead as his stomach swooped; he blinked, and found himself in a minibus, the swooping sensation ending abruptly as the vehicle hit water. He had enough time to suck in a lungful of air before he was submerged, and then it was a case of fumbling with the seatbelt and swimming out through the non-existent back doors, his teammates emerging around him once he hit the surface.

They all made their way to the side of the reservoir as quickly as they could, Steve dragging a still-unconscious Pierce with him. Congratulations were exchanged as they each went their separate ways to wait out the timer on the top level, totems subtly checked along the way, and Steve left the Secretary on the bank. Before going their own way, Clint pulled Bucky to one side and took a moment to soak in his presence, to reassure himself that Bucky was fine and whole again, the memories of him bleeding out in his arms still fresh in his mind.

“I’m okay,” Bucky murmured, their foreheads touching. He squeezed Clint’s sides gently. “We’re okay.”

Sniffing, Clint nodded. “Yeah,” he said, starting to believe it. “How soon can we get out of here?”

Bucky smiled. “Not soon enough.”

***

The private room was a welcome sight to return to. Everyone was smiling as the Somnacin wore off, hardly daring to believe what they’d achieved, and Tony declared all of them his special guests in honour of their success.

“Who wants to stay the night?” he asked, promising plenty of food and drink as well as a bed for anyone who wanted to stay beyond the main event; most took him up on the offer, excited at the prospect of celebrating under Pierce’s nose, but Bruce claimed he wanted to go back to Betty and the clinic, and Clint wanted time alone with Bucky.

“I just need to go home,” he said to Natasha when she asked how he was feeling.

She nodded in understanding. “You both deserve it,” she said, and smiled. “I owe you an apology – you were right about James being able to cope.”

“Yeah, well,” Clint said quietly, glancing back to Bucky shaking hands with T’Challa. “It was touch and go for a moment.”

“But he did it,” she reminded him. “Up until that moment, he handled himself well. If things hadn’t gone south the way they did, I doubt Limbo would ever have been a problem.”

“Thanks, Nat,” he said with a smile, accepting that she was right; falling into Limbo hadn’t been Bucky’s fault, not really. Perhaps that was a sign of better things to come.

They left once their goodbyes had been said, wishing everyone a good night before taking a quiet taxi home. Standing in front of their door, Clint felt a rush of anxiety, but on seeing that the inside was the same as it had always been, a new desire coursed through him, one that Bucky seemed to share, and they quickly ended up in the bedroom.

Later, having taken full advantage of their time alone, Clint pushed himself up into a sitting position on the bed to better see out of the window. Despite the dark of night minimising what detail he could pick out, the view was comforting in its familiarity, much more preferable than the one out of Bucky’s Limbo version. Part of him wondered what it had once looked like, the dream city that had been so desolate and broken, but recalling how alone he had felt before finding Bucky made him glad he hadn’t been there long enough to find out.

Listening to the distant sound of the subway train, Clint traced the star on Bucky’s shoulder where he lay next to Clint’s hip. “Hey,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

Eyes closed, Bucky nodded. “Mhm.”

“When I asked you to come with me, in Limbo,” he asked slowly, fingers still moving around the tattoo’s edge, “what made you do it?”

Bucky shrugged a shoulder. “I trusted you,” he mumbled. “Thought about everything we’d ever done together, and how, no matter where I was, I’d always go with you if you asked me to.”

Surprised, and touched, Clint said, “Why?”

“There are days I still can’t work it out – what’s real and what’s not – but I could never make you up.” He rolled onto his side, making himself comfortable with his head in Clint’s lap. “You’re the only real thing I ever touched.”

It took Clint a while to let that statement sink in. With damp eyes, he carded his fingers through Bucky’s hair, saying, “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

He felt the smile grow. “Yeah,” Bucky said, voice thick, “and I love you too. Couldn’t dream that up, either.”

Clint looked down on the floor where his trousers lay, knowing that his totem was inside. He wondered briefly if ‘danyi’ was still written on one side, then slid down under the bedcovers fully, letting Bucky drape himself over half his body, the weight more comfortable than he could imagine. He was right, Clint thought – how could either of them possibly dream this up?

***

Sharon looked both ways down the empty corridor, the action habitual and somewhat unnecessary. “You know,” she said as Fury stepped out of the elevator behind her, “this feels an awful lot like one of those recurring dreams people talk about.”

“Most people would say déjà vu,” he said, turning left.

Following at his right shoulder, Sharon said, “Guess that says a lot about what’s on my mind.”

“It’s natural,” Fury assured her, then asking, “So you’ve never had a recurring dream?”

Thinking of the one she’d had again last night – involving Steve, a gun, and confusion as to who’d pulled the trigger and why – she responded with, “I wouldn’t say never,” and left it at that.

Rounding the corner together, Sharon recognised the double doors guarded by two women. Ayo and Aneka saw them approaching, one of them disappearing inside, and they didn’t have to wait long before the doors opened again.

“Your Highness,” Fury said, inclining his head. Sharon mimicked him with a smile.

“Director Fury, Miss Carter,” T’Challa greeted them, smiling broadly. “It is good to see you both again. Please, come in,” he said, standing aside. “Mr. Stark has already made himself at home.”

“No surprises there,” Sharon said.

“Are we going straight to business?” Fury asked, and T’Challa nodded.

“We have already started a discussion about how the vibranium could be used. Mr. Stark would like to test the theory that it can augment a dreamer’s subconscious state enough to prevent descending into Limbo…”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "You're the only real thing I ever touched."
> 
> The inclusion of the Half Moon Run lyrics was inspired by [this lovely piece of art](http://templeait.tumblr.com/post/147408565200/with-the-heart-of-a-child-and-the-wit-of-a-fool) by [templeait](http://templeait.tumblr.com/), which uses lyrics from the same song and I was like 'oooooh it fits!', so thanks Temple!
> 
> And Rasp? I hope you liked the surprise ;-)


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